


The Enigma in Black and White

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character appropriate violence, Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Angst and Smut, Friends to Enemies, Friendship/Love, Gift Giving, Guilt, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Nygmobblepot, Prompts Accepted, Regret, Slice of Life, Unrequited love (or so they think), sexual fantasies, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 71,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8791276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: A canon compliant collection of one-shots exploring potential little moments in Oswald and Ed's relationship that we never saw on screen. Takes place through Seasons 2 & 3.Prompt based: If you have a request for a chapter drop me a message here or on Tumblr: https://thedeevirus.tumblr.com/





	1. The Language of Birds

'If you weren't a penguin, what bird would you be?'

Oswald halted the forkful of noodles on its way to his mouth.  
Ed was looking at him eagerly, eyes shining the way they always did when he asked what he deemed an intriguing question.

'I didn't really get to choose you know', Oswald said, ‘Besides I was _The_ Penguin, not _A_ Penguin’.

'Well, egocentric grammar aside and say you could choose: what would you be?'

'You ask some really weird questions'.

'Like what? Oh! You're referring to the one earlier about-'

Oswald put his chopsticks down pointedly.  
'And if you recall I answered you'.

Ed recalled a reaction but not an answer.  
He had been curious that was all. It had been a simple question: far more straight forward than his usual queries. He hadn't anticipated Oswald to gape in response then angrily snap it was none of his business before flouncing off (as well as he was able), pale skin reddening like it had been sunburnt.

'And if you recall I apologised’, Ed said, palms open placatingly, ‘Hence the Chinese banquet before you. So come on, humour me with this one. Please?'

'I'm content to be a penguin thank you’, Oswald said, scanning the prospective foodstuffs nestled in their warm plastic containers.

Ed really had spared no expense for the culinary penance before them.  
The salted chilli squid caught Oswald’s roving eye and he extended his arm, chopsticks poised to snatch one of the fragrant chunks to add to his noodles.

‘A hungry penguin-ah!’

He winced suddenly as his arm spasmed. His fingers clenched into a fist causing one chopstick to fall from his fingers and roll along the surface of the table.  
Ed stopped it in its tracks and, wiping it down, placed it back on Oswald’s plate.  
Oswald gritted his teeth.  
Damn bullet wound!  
He had to remember not to move his arm too far to the right!  
He waved his other hand in dismissal at Ed’s concerned look and speared a chunk of squid with a single chopstick.

‘-with a busted wing', Oswald concluded.  
He rubbed his shoulder carefully, fingers kneading away the pain.

'Technically it'd be a flipper not a wing', Ed said, pushing the soy sauce towards Oswald with a finger.

Oswald grabbed the bottle and began to shake it over his noodles with his good hand. The motion was so violent Ed could almost envision a knife in place of the brown bottle. 

'I bow to your superior knowledge of penguins', Oswald growled.

He put the bottle down on to the table again with a sharp tap.

‘Arm, flipper, wing. It’s still a pain’. 

They ate in silence for a time until Ed was satisfied Oswald’s discomfort had eased: the portion of salted chilli king prawn appeared to be proving conducive to his recovery given their rapidly encroaching extinction.

'Do you know I only started studying penguins recently?’ Ed offered before crunching a prawn cracker.

‘Why’s that?’ Oswald asked.

‘ _As part of my research to understand any aspect of you that may prove useful. To identify how accurate your chosen moniker is at describing you. To fill a gap in my knowledge of various Antarctic fauna. To make clever puns and observations such as the one I’m making now and will make in relation to aquatic favouring avian species_ ’, Ed’s inner voice rattled off with the speed of an approaching freight train.

What Ed actually said was: ‘Curiosity. You never get curious?’

‘In my line of work it rarely pays-’ Oswald started before correcting himself, ‘ _Paid_ off. Besides what difference does it make what bird I would be? Doesn't change what I am'.

Sensing Oswald was about to slip back into yet another bout of melancholy, Ed cut to the chase.

'Do you know what I'd be?'

'No but that's the way you like it'.

'A grey parrot. Capable of using tools, capacity to mimic human speech and able to recognise itself in a mirror'.

'So can crows', Oswald countered.

'True but they're not very colourful', Ed shrugged.

'No. But they’re unnoticed and misunderstood by most 'normal' people’. 

‘Normal _is_ overrated’, Ed conceded. 

‘Also very good at getting rid of dead bodies and figuring out puzzles', Oswald said with a wry wink.

Ed laughed. 

'Besides, parrots only repeat what they hear’, Oswald continued, ‘There's no real intelligence in it. I’ve known a lot of parrots. You’re not one of them'.

Ed couldn’t help but beam at that.  
Despite his odd appearance, Oswald was downright pleasant company in the right circumstances. There was none of the usual pitying tolerance Ed experienced at the GCPD. No obvious questions followed by derisive remarks or name calling.  
Oswald listened.  
Ed surmised it was because Oswald had most likely experienced the same treatment at some point.  
He had known the infamous Penguin could help him but he had never anticipated this level of kinship with him! Then again if anybody was going to find a best friend on the first try it would be Edward Nygma right?

Oswald didn’t notice Ed’s simultaneous silent appreciation and self-aggrandisement.  
He was considering his companion’s question.  
Why not aim big?

'I guess I could be an eagle?’ Oswald offered, ‘Got the nose for it'.

Ed steepled his fingers.  
'I think you're too self-aware to be an eagle. Eagles are too busy looking down their beaks at the rest of us to see what's really going on'.

Oswald poured Ed another glass of red wine before filling his own glass.

'Well, since you had this all figured out even before you asked me the question, what do you think I could be?'

Ed was a trifle disappointed.  
It wasn't as much fun if people just asked for the answer.  
But Oswald had been through a lot: he could let it go this time. 

'A swan'.

Oswald burst out laughing, wine dribbling down his chin.  
He couldn’t help it.  
The imagery was just too ridiculous!  
The epitome of majesty, purity and grace - yep, that was him alright!

'Hear me out!’ Ed protested, ‘Hear me out! Stop laughing please!'

Oswald stifled his laughter with difficulty.  
Ed always seemed to get hot under the collar when he thought somebody wasn't taking him seriously.  
They had a lot in common there.  
But for some reason with Ed it was different. When he made light of a situation it wasn’t mean spirited, just gentle good humour. The difference in the treatments he had endured from Fish and her cronies and the conversations he now enjoyed with Ed astounded Oswald.

'Sorry’, Oswald said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, ‘Been called a goose before, a golden one even, but never a swan. Haven’t got the look for it’.

‘Looks aren’t everything’, Ed said, grabbing his own napkin, ‘I’ll show you’.

Oswald watched as Ed made a few precise movements and folds. Within two minutes, a perfect white synthetic swan nestled in Ed’s palm.  
Oswald nodded in respect to Eddie’s trick.  
Ed picked up the swan by its tail and held it horizontally like it was floating on a lake surface. 

‘Swans paddle like the dickens beneath the water’, he said, bobbing the swan up and down for effect, ‘but on top it looks like they're doing nothing at all’.

He flapped the napkin and the swan unfolded. He gave a small bow and Oswald obligingly tapped the top of the table with one hand in quiet applause.

‘Not to mention the obvious parallels between the ugly duckling who became what he was always destined to be, damn the naysayers', Ed said off-handedly, replacing the napkin on his lap.

‘ _Stupid! Stupid!_ ’ his internal voice berated him, ‘ _Why’d you say that?! Ugly?! Seriously?!_ ’

His knuckles were white from gripping his fork as he glanced at Oswald. He gave a quiet sigh of relief when he saw no change in his new friend’s expression.  
Oswald tilted his head, considering Ed's points while swallowing a lump threatening to build in his throat. His mother had read him that story when he had been little. It had been one of their favourites. It was cold comfort now.

'You've really thought about this haven't you?' Oswald asked, pushing attention back onto Eddie: he had only been living in the apartment for a few days but had learned very quickly that was just where Ed liked it.

'Birds are fascinating’, Ed said simply.

He made a few whistles and chirps, fingers held together and opening quickly before closing, mimicking a bird pecking at the ground.

‘Modern little dinosaurs hunting crumbs from old ladies in parks. Especially ones like penguins and swans: so adaptable!'

‘Adaptable? More like sore, empty and beaten right now’, Oswald thought to himself.  
'That’s flattering but I'm not convinced', he said aloud.

'Really?'

Oswald stood and took a few token footsteps as a demonstration.  
Yes, there they were. All the familiar twinges and the silent yet insistent pressure he felt just beneath the knee with every step. He had always had bad posture but it had gotten worse. Now his shoulders hunched because it was necessary to maintain his balance, not because of self-consciousness. He had been tempted to have a doctor break the bones and realign them but had held off.  
His leg was a good reminder of where he had come from. What it had taken to get where he was.  
But where was he?  
Wearing someone else’s old dressing gown with a roof over his head simply because he was a capable instructor in the subtle art of murder.  
If he’d been more capable he wouldn’t be in this mess.  
He wouldn’t _be_ a mess.  
And as a result of preserving the physical souvenir of this hubris, Oswald hobbled.  
He _waddled_.  
Like Ed said, swans were adaptable: they could fly and swim.  
Oswald could barely walk.

'See? No swan here', he said with forced brightness.  
He sat back down, carefully lowering himself back into the chair and leaning back to take the weight off his feet.

‘No Penguin either. Just a lame duck’, he thought.

He was surprised (and slightly irritated) to see Ed had a smile on his face: as if Oswald had just proved his point.  
He rolled his eyes, waiting for Ed’s explanation.  
Couldn’t he let him mope?! Even for a few seconds?!

'And that my friend, is why you rarely see swans on land', Ed said before adding with a dark smile, 'They are much better at breaking interloper's arms than walking'.

Oswald laughed at that.

Ed had proven himself not only capable but endlessly willing to cheer him up. It was only right to let him once in a while.

'In that case maybe I should start rebranding’, Oswald mused, taking a sip of wine, ’I have been thinking about getting an evil laugh'.

'Let's hear it', Ed invited.

Oswald threw back his head and gave a short demonstration.  
Ed pursed his lips at the sound. It was akin to the seagulls milling about near the dumpsters when the Chinese restaurant downstairs put the trash out every morning. It was an odd squawking chuckle… ironically almost like a peng-

'No good?'

Oswald’s voice cut through his internal analysis.

'A little on the nose’, Ed said, summoning as much tact as he could muster, ‘but practice makes perfect'.

‘I’ll drink to that’, Oswald said, tilting his glass in salute.

‘How about a toast then?’ Ed offered, raising his own glass.

‘To what?’ Oswald asked, lifting his own again.

‘The less of me you have the more I’m worth’, Ed pronounced, ‘What am I?’

It was technically a second hand riddle but it was still perfectly apt for the situation so that made it okay. But he still regretted wasting it on that feckless double date with Mr and soon to be Mrs Detective Gordon.  
How ironic that in cutting away a few lesser friends like weeds, he had found a rose amongst the thorns!  
He watched Oswald consider the answer with anticipation.  
It was so intriguing to see such a range of emotions play across another’s face!  
Usually Ed avoided looking at them but with Oswald it was like watching someone have a conversation with themselves, carefully scanning every potential answer before selecting one.  
It was like a chess match between two masters in one brain.  
After what seemed like four checkmates, Oswald looked Ed in the eyes and gave his answer.  
There was such gravitas in his face that Ed felt somewhat abashed to have used a riddle.  
It was an unfamiliar feeling.

‘You are Edward Nygma. My best and only friend’.

Oswald knocked back his drink in one go and resumed eating his Chinese food.  
Ed resumed shortly afterwards, once he had gotten his heart back under control.  
The curry was hotter than usual.  
His cheeks were burning!


	2. Foreshadowing

‘Sneaky little bugger aren’t you?’

Oswald stirred, one bloodshot eye cracking open at the sound of Ed’s words. As he raised himself up into a sitting position, Ed spoke again, louder this time.

‘Don’t move!’

‘What?! What is it?!’ Oswald demanded while instantly freezing at the urgency in Ed’s tone.

Ed was semi crouching, a dishtowel in one hand as he peered into a shadowy corner above his kitchen cabinets. Oswald saw in the other hand he was wielding a sieve.  
His posture was tense as he crept forwards: like a hunter stalking his prey.  
At first, Oswald thought Ed had been reacting to an odd noise he had heard while cooking: a GCPD raid?! But the stove was cold. Judging from the quiet sounds of the TV and the ‘Paused’ icon across the screen, Ed had been playing a video game.  
Ed suddenly leapt back and Oswald saw a shape burst from the gloom above the cabinets. Distracted momentarily by Ed falling over one of his kitchen chairs and landing in an undignified heap on the floor, it took Oswald a few minutes to catch sight of whatever had spooked his roommate.  
When he finally did lay eyes on it as it circled the disengaged ceiling fan, Oswald rolled his eyes.

‘A bat?’ he asked, irritated, ‘Seriously?!’

Ed was back on his feet but hunched so low he was almost bent double. Oswald’s vexation gave way to amusement as he watched Ed cringe and his face twist as he watched the bat fly about with undisguised nervousness.

‘I thought you would’ve liked them’, Oswald commented.

‘Ugh! No!’ Ed cried aghast, ‘With those creepy little hooks and rotten little teeth?!’

‘Only mammals capable of flight’.

‘Yes, thank you’, Ed deadpanned, ‘I am perfectly aware that they are marvels of evolution. They’re just so ugly and disease ridden and-‘

‘Are you trying to catch it in that sieve?’ Oswald asked, indicating Ed’s chosen instrument for his battle.

‘I don’t have a net’, Ed shrugged then flinched as the bat swooped lower and nearly grazed his hair.

Oswald stifled a laugh as Ed rounded on him, obviously not as amused as Oswald was by their unwanted ‘guest’.

‘You don’t seem to mind them’, Oswald commented, indicating a pair of mounted bats behind glass sitting on top of Ed’s wardrobe.

‘You will also notice they’re not flying around!’ Ed retorted, eyes tracking the bat as it moved to flittering around the kitchen light.

Oswald got up out of bed, ignoring the various aches that permeated his body and stood beside Ed.

‘Maybe I should call the exterminator?’ Ed asked, ‘Or animal control? Which one deals with bats?’

Oswald yanked the sieve out of Ed’s hand and threw it into the kitchen sink. 

‘Should we maybe get a light or something? Like a signal? They’re attracted to light right?’ Ed continued.

Rolling his eyes, Oswald walked past the bat and the stationary Ed.  
Reaching up, and slightly grimacing as he felt his shoulder ache, he opened the kitchen window.  
He sensed Ed was about to say something smart but disparaging about his chosen tactic.  
This made victory that much sweeter to Oswald when the bat sensed its opportunity and flew out of the window into the night before Ed could form a sentence.

‘Close the window will you?’ Oswald asked politely, patting Ed shoulder as he walked back towards the bed.

‘I take it you’re familiar with that much maligned species’, Ed said.  
He went to the kitchen sink after closing the window. Oswald scoffed as he watched Ed wash his hands attentively, using antibacterial soap for extra safety.  
He hadn’t even touched the bat!

‘They used to get stuck in my mother’s air vents sometimes’, Oswald explained, ‘No point calling the landlord if you can get rid of them in the amount of time it would take him to show up’.

Oswald got back into bed, drawing the covers up around him.

‘Thank you’, Ed said, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, ‘I appreciate it’.

Oswald blinked. Why was Ed thanking him for opening a window? But then his confusion was replaced by something altogether more pleasant: he found he was glad to have helped Ed. Now he thought about it, Ed had done a lot for him. Opening a window was not enough to repay him. He would have to think about how to properly thank him once he was well again. 

‘Just give the bat what it wants and it'll go away. They're not stupid’, Oswald shrugged, ‘Work with it, not against it. You'll have a much easier time’.

He cocked an eyebrow.

‘Or were you too busy trying to make the bat look silly and yourself look smart?’ he teased, ‘Because it's a flying rodent. It doesn't care’.

‘Huh’, Ed said, pushing his glasses up on his nose, ‘Like I always say: sometimes the simplest solution is the correct one’.

Oswald made an unimpressed noise.

‘Don’t act all high and mighty fixing your glasses like that. You're just trying to cover up that you failed to outsmart a bat’.

Ed cleared his throat.

‘It was a one time thing. I promise’, he said lightly, waving a hand dismissively.

‘Sure it was’, Oswald grinned, ‘Don’t worry. I won't tell anyone’.

‘Because you want this kind of leverage all to yourself?’

Oswald held up his hands. It was an obvious physical signal: ‘you got me!’

‘I consider it insurance’, Oswald corrected.

Ed swallowed, feeling an odd pride welling up. The Penguin was well on his way to recovery. So much for leaving Gotham forever. Ed thought this must be how people who worked in animal shelters must feel: taking in a stray and helping it recover.  
But if that stray should try to bite, it needed to be disciplined.

‘Speaking of leverage’, Ed said, with his own sly smile, ‘Do you always favour striped briefs or were you trying to mix things up on the day I found you?’

Oswald gasped and Ed tilted his head curiously as he watched Oswald try to respond with something witty or droll. Unfortunately that well seemed to have run dry. Ed grinned as Oswald shrank back beneath the covers. It was so funny how red his cheeks could get when he was embarrassed!


	3. The Way to a Man's Heart

‘You made dinner?’ 

‘I did’, Oswald beamed, indicating Ed’s seat.

Ed hung up his coat and took it, pleasantly surprised at Oswald’s thoughtfulness.  
He had never come in from work to a home cooked meal before. By the looks of the ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter, Oswald had spared no expense. Most of the jars and empty packets appeared to have come from ‘Stagg’s’: one of the city’s most elite delis. 

‘You bought all this?’

‘Dummy accounts, online orders with directions to leave them on the doorstep’, Oswald said as he poured them both a glass of red wine, ‘No human contact’.

Ed nodded appreciatively as he sipped the wine. Oswald had been planning this for some time then: when you were the most wanted man in Gotham even grocery shopping required pinpoint planning.  
The table certainly bore testament to Oswald’s eye for detail: he had set the table with a clean cloth and even picked some flowers from Ed’s windowbox for a vase in the centre next to a basket of crispy looking rolls.  
Oswald took his own seat and raised his glass in salute. Ed was gratified to see Oswald wearing one of the suits he had brought him. Now his arm no longer required as much attention, Oswald had been keen to get out of sweatpants and dressing gowns and back into his ‘battle armour’ as he called it. Ed didn’t know much about style (despite knowing much about the composition of clothing materials) but even he knew Oswald had impeccable taste in his choice of chainmail.

Ed returned the salute and scooped a generous portion of the steaming brown stew onto his spoon. He popped it in his mouth and began to chew. Then chew slowly. Then hold it in his mouth in such a way it didn’t quite touch his tongue.  
It was awful.  
Despite the tantalizing aroma akin to cinnamon, the stew tasted bitter and was oddly textured, the rubbery meat laced with what felt like grit!  
Ed reached for a bread roll from a nearby basket as he swallowed his first mouthful. He used his other hand to tip some salt from a shaker into the bowl then used his fork to mash the stew. Hopefully it would get rid of the mysterious gritty texture and the salt would neutralise the bitterness. He noticed disconcerting looking slimy pieces of what looked like seaweed as he dipped his bread into the thick brown mixture. Not daring to look up at Oswald, he bit into the dipped bread. The salt had done its job but all the bread had done was add another smooth texture for the grit to latch on to.  
As he added more salt to his bowl, Ed was surprised to hear a bitter laugh from Oswald.  
Swallowing another mouthful (with difficulty), he looked up and saw Oswald had only eaten a spoonful of his own meal (at most).

‘How long are you going to sit there and choke that down?’ Oswald asked, smiling humourlessly. 

‘Until I notice you’re not I suppose’, Ed said, lowering his spoon, feeling unpleasantly confused.

Oswald sighed heavily and leant forwards, elbows on the table, both hands supporting his head.

‘I made some changes to the recipe’, Oswald confessed.

The quiet words intrigued Ed. It was the voice of someone confessing some dark secret. It was the tone probably used by the protagonist of Poe’s ‘The Tell Tale Heart’ when his grisly crime was discovered.  
The recipe must have been special to Oswald. His reaction was too pained to have been simple regret at a culinary experiment gone wrong.

‘What was it _supposed_ to be?’ Ed asked.

‘Goulash’, Oswald shrugged.

A basic recipe. It made sense Oswald felt silly having gotten it wrong. Ed had never made it himself but its composition was nearly identical to stew or a chunky soup give or take some minor differences in preparation and ingredients. It was a dish that could be modified to feed two or twenty. A peasant’s dish. A family dish.  
Ed closed his eyes as understanding dawned.  
For someone so smart, it baffled him how stupid he could be.  
Goulash had all the qualities he had listed internally.  
But this wasn’t normal goulash.

‘Your _mother's_ goulash’, Ed corrected.

Oswald nodded. Ed heard the subtle sniff. Oswald was more upset than he was letting on.  
But…if it was his mother’s recipe, then he must have known it off by heart.

‘You say you made alterations to the usual recipe’, Ed said, ‘Why?’

Oswald’s budding excuses evaporated under Ed’s searchlight like stare.

‘Because I wanted to improve it okay?!’ Oswald snapped defensively.

‘Improve it?’

‘To, you know, make it-I don’t know- _'fancy'_?! So stupid. I am so _stupid_! I wanted to make something for you but apparently I can’t even do that right!’

‘You’re not stupid!’ Ed said, louder than he meant to bringing Oswald’s tirade to a grinding halt.

That was why Oswald was taking the failure of the meal so personally.  
He had deliberately altered a treasured family memory like his mother’s cooking by substituting expensive ingredients.  
Oswald hadn’t just wanted to thank Ed.  
Oswald had wanted to impress him!  
Ed hid how flustered he was by the realization. It didn’t seem right to meet Oswald’s discontent with appreciation of flattery.  
It was touching how much Oswald _cared_.

‘At least it explains why you wanted to know where that mustard was’, Ed said, remembering Oswald’s odd phonecall to his desk at the GCPD earlier that day.

Ed realised as soon as he said it that Oswald was not in the mood for light heartedness.  
Oswald stood up abruptly and began to hobble with as much speed as he could muster around to Ed’s side of the table. Ed recognised this as Oswald’s short temper reaching breaking point. If he didn’t do something his crockery was likely to go out the window. Oswald made to snatch the bowl from him but Ed grabbed his wrist.  
Oswald gave a half-hearted shake to release his grip but realised it was pointless.  
Ed was stronger than he looked and Oswald was still recovering.

‘Let go of me’, Oswald said, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

While he had been cooking, he had felt numerous jabs of guilt every time he had added something not in his mother’s original recipe. Determinedly, he had swallowed them down, focusing on the task at hand and the rewards of his labour.  
And now it was ruined.  
He had betrayed the memory of his mother and had nothing to show for it.  
He couldn’t look at Ed as he shook his head in frustration.  
This was so stupid! It was just food!  
They’d get takeout and forget this whole thing ever happened!

‘I’m better at disposing of evidence’, Ed said, heedless of Oswald’s churning emotions, ‘You can wash your hands and get ready’.

Oswald looked puzzled as Ed let him go and stood, beginning to stack the bowl and his cutlery.

‘For what?’ he asked.

‘Round two’, Ed smiled.

 

‘Would you like another bowl?’ Oswald asked.

‘I think Mr Stomach has had enough fun’, Ed sighed, ‘Time for Mr Brain to take back control and say ‘No thank you’’.

Oswald chuckled, placing the bowl back in the pot. 

He was gratified to see there wasn’t enough goulash left for another serving anyway.  
Despite his thin appearance, Ed’s appetite was a match for Oswald’s: between them they had decimated three bowls each of goulash with bread for dipping! He supposed Ed’s brain needed some serious fuel for maximum efficiency: it was the only explanation. Either that or Ed’s height meant he had plenty of places to store what he consumed.  
That time the goulash had turned out perfectly: Ed had seamlessly followed Oswald’s instructions as they recreated his mother’s recipe flawlessly.  
Treacherously, Oswald felt it tasted even better than when his mother had made it. The ‘top quality’ ingredients from Stagg’s had been dumped unceremoniously (yet satisfactorily) in the trash in favour of the ingredients Ed had on hand.  
Ed always had a well-stocked fridge but he saw cooking more as a hobby than a necessity. He only cooked when he wanted to savour the experience and appreciate the science of creating a dish.  
Oswald took it as a compliment that Ed had wanted to cook his mother’s recipe.  
She would have loved it.  
She would have loved Ed.

‘I’d ask if you liked it but it’d be a stupid question’, Oswald joked, partly to quash the melancholy that memories of his mother usually summoned.

‘No such thing’, Ed replied but then grimaced, ‘Unless of course, you’re Harvey Bullock’.

Oswald laughed.  
They sat in silence for a while.

‘You _did_ like it though?’ Oswald pressed.

‘Wouldn’t have eaten it if I didn’t’.

‘You ate or _tried_ to eat the other stuff’.

‘You worked hard on it and I know it didn’t come cheap’.

‘Don’t worry about it’, Oswald said truthfully, ‘I didn’t have to do it’.

‘But you did’, Ed said and looked into Oswald’s eyes, ‘and I truly appreciate the thought’.

Oswald smiled and turned away.  
Ed’s eyes were always so warm and bright! He hadn’t noticed at first.

‘Do you come up here a lot?’ Oswald asked, directing Ed’s gaze anywhere else but his colouring cheeks.

Ed cast a glance over the cityscape that stretched beneath them.  
Gotham’s lights shone like a million beacons in the night, different colours like stars reflected on the river’s black expanse. It was a fitting visual metaphor for the city: blackness beneath, high rising, shiny buildings desperately reaching towards the sky.  
The change in locale had been a spur of the moment thing, Ed suggesting they take their food to the roof to enjoy.  
It was mostly to get Oswald out of the apartment for a bit: both signifying the previous attempt at the meal no longer mattered and also to get him some fresh air. Judging from the fact everything in his cupboards had been reorganized by colour and alphabetised while he was out, Oswald was getting a bit stir crazy.  
There was only so much daytime TV anyone could take.

‘Not really’ Ed conceded, ‘but I thought a bit of al fresco dining would make a nice change’.

‘It does’, Oswald agreed, ‘You know the last time I looked at Gotham like this, I’d just killed Fish? I was the ‘King of Gotham’’.

Oswald spread his arms wide and gave a self-conscious laugh.

‘You know I actually yelled that?’ he asked Ed, ‘Got up on the edge of the roof and screamed it? It sounds silly now but…it just felt right’.

‘You certainly earned it’, Ed commented.

He liked seeing Oswald with energy again. These periods were becoming more and more frequent now he was on the mend, the wretched feelings of failure replaced by a drive to regain all he had lost. It was quite exhilarating to watch Oswald in full flow, eyes shining with ambition as he extolled what he would do to those that stood in his way. Ed wondered if Oswald knew how engrossing it was to watch him speak.  
He supposed not: Oswald was far too self-conscious for that.  
It was a shame.

‘Also earned that tin can a hobo threw at me while I was up there’, Oswald said, ‘He yelled that I woke him up. I nearly fell off the roof but I was in such a good mood I let it slide’.

‘You usually leave that bit out of the retellings I bet’, Ed smiled.

‘I usually only tell work colleagues’, Oswald said, ‘And I use that term loosely. But you and I? We’re friends’.

Oswald looked at him solemnly.

‘Friends shouldn’t have secrets’, he concluded.

‘It would be kinda hard to have secrets in our case’, Ed shrugged, ignoring the strange feeling of disappointment he felt at the word ‘friend’, ‘Apartment’s not very big’.

‘And I’ve seen you naked after all’, Ed finished in his mind, savouring the delicious, secret arousal the image conjured.

It had been a purely practical concern at first.  
He had been forced to destroy the clothes that he had found Oswald wearing in the woods. Not only were they tatty and damaged but they hadn’t come out clean even after a high temperature wash. Besides they were potentially pieces of incriminating evidence: for all Ed knew he hadn’t been the only one hiding bodies in those woods. To get the clothes, he had been forced to undress Oswald.  
He was a forensics expert so the actual act hadn’t bothered him: he had seen plenty of people naked during his career and they were usually in worse shape than Oswald had been.  
But as he had used scissors to cut away Oswald’s bloodstained shirt, he had become more and more intrigued by the man.  
Just as a dead body could offer up secrets, so had Oswald’s, each one Ed had filed carefully away.  
An appendix scar, signs of a tattoo that had been removed above his heart, bruising and bad swelling around one knee joint that explained Oswald’s ungainly yet strangely rhythmic limp, long fingers with perfectly manicured nails, the list went on and on.  
Sometimes Oswald’s eyes would flick open in his delirium and Ed would catch a glimpse of those icy irises, green as the sea, bright with fever and fear of whatever nightmares dogged him while he slept. When he would inevitably slip back into unconsciousness, Ed would marvel at how a man could have such long eyelashes or be so light as, once his task was complete and Oswald was attired, he carried him to the bed to recover.  
He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he had started to fall in love with Oswald rather than the idea of The Penguin but he knew it was happening.  
He knew it every time Oswald smiled at him. Every time Oswald laughed at one of his jokes or rolled his eyes at one of his puns. Every time he asked him how his day at work had been.  
He had never imagined he could feel this way about a man. Especially not so soon after Miss Kringle’s unfortunate passing.  
He supposed he should feel guilty.

He supposed he should stop feeling this way before it went too far...

Oswald was also thinking about his feelings for Ed even as (unknown to him) Ed tried to reconcile his ideology with his emerging longings.  
In fact, Oswald often thought about Ed. Mostly in the quiet, dark nights when he was alone in bed…  
Thinking about Ed’s clever fingers moving over his bare skin, his eyes examining every inch of him, his smile that showed the points of his teeth…  
He knew he’d be thinking about it tonight.  
He had never understood romantic feelings: they always seemed so messy and more trouble than they were worth. A lot of pretty platitudes and holding hands that vanished as soon as storm clouds appeared on the horizon. Then again, he knew this feeling of resentment had much to do with previous experiences. No matter how many times his mother had reassured him and encouraged him, no girl had ever looked twice at him. If she had, it had been because she had bumped into him by accident or glanced at him as she made whispered yet no less cruel remarks to her friends about him.  
There was a new thought.  
An alarming but intriguing thought.  
Did he even _like girls?_  
He was amazed to discover he didn’t know. He had certainly never thought about liking men but that had simply been because he had given up on romance as ‘not for him’. Why waste time on shallow pursuits like dating when there was a whole city to conquer?!  
But now there wasn't and he realised he now knew what he liked.  
_Who_ he liked.  
Feeling a sudden chill despite the heavy coat Ed had lent him, Oswald subtly moved closer to the other man.  
He flinched slightly as his hand accidentally brushed over Ed’s but when Ed gave no reaction, Oswald relaxed. He snuggled down into the larger coat, breathing in Ed’s scent, feeling a warmth rising in his stomach that had nothing to do with the goulash.  
Looking over the city, Ed smiled, feeling the exact same thing, as well as regret that Oswald had not kept his hand on his.


	4. Heartsong

‘Do you know penguins can dance?’

‘This is leading up to some kind of point I assume?’ Oswald asked, flicking through various daytime TV shows with disinterest.

‘Did you know that penguins can sing?’

Oswald glanced at Ed’s back. He was doing some kind of research on his computer. He had been at it for hours.

‘No Ed. I did not know that penguins could dance. Or sing’, Oswald said, turning off the TV, finally giving up on finding anything remotely watchable on any of the hundreds of channels.

‘Though they don’t as well as animated movies would have you believe’, Ed said.

‘Why?’

‘Well, their feet are ill equipped for it, they lack the necessary vocal-‘

‘Very funny’, Oswald said, cutting him off, ‘You know what I mean. Why do they sing and dance?’

‘Primarily for courtship purposes’, Ed said, gesturing for Oswald to join him at the desk, ‘Look’.

Oswald got up carefully and limped to stand at Ed’s side. He saw Ed had been watching a wildlife documentary online. Emperor penguins were huddled together in a fierce blizzard.

‘For someone so focussed on their nickname, you don’t seem to have done a lot of research’, Ed commented without criticism.

‘That’s not singing’, Oswald said, grimacing as Ed turned the sound on, ‘It’s squawking’. 

‘Just like most modern music’, Ed said drily.

‘You’re telling me they can tell each other’s squawks apart?’

‘No two calls are alike’, Ed said enthusiastically, holding up index fingers on both hands.

Oswald watched as Ed caused both index fingers to trace the opposite sides of a heart shape before meeting together. It was almost…hypnotic watching those long fingers move.

‘The penguin instantly recognises its mate’s voice as soon as they hear it’, he said, ‘They really are fascinating’.

‘And-and-what-what did you find that was fascinating about me?’ Oswald asked, hating the stutter in his voice.

He wondered why he suddenly felt so warm while ignoring the fact that he knew the answer already.

‘What makes you think-‘ Ed began but Oswald cut him off.

‘With you Ed, there’s always something going on beneath the surface’.

Ed smiled, abashed at his true purpose having been discovered and flattered by the compliment.  
He opened the second tab and showed Oswald an old newspaper story he had dug up. He had come across it by accident when checking how the hunt for The Penguin was progressing.   
He saw Oswald roll his eyes as he saw the picture.  
A young boy with a sad smile looked out of an old picture of a child’s musical theatre group. They had just completed a successful performance of ‘Oliver!’ at the Monarch theatre in honour of their groups’ thirtieth anniversary.

‘Do you still dance?’ Ed asked.

‘Not any more’, Oswald said, gesturing to his knee, ‘Obviously’.

‘You used to though’, Ed pressed.

Seeing he was not going to be able to hobble away without Ed following him like some kind of vulture looking for answers, Oswald decided to play the game.

‘Mother had aspirations for me to go into theatre’, he explained, ‘Took five years of dance classes before I changed her mind and I was able to give it up’.

‘You didn’t enjoy it?’

Oswald didn’t answer at first, pretending to be interested in some finite detail on the photograph on screen.  
Despite his misgivings, he had come to love dancing: the atmosphere of the theatre, the makeup, the clothes…   
But he hadn’t enjoyed the fallout from his hobby.  
The other boys had taunted him about his ‘girly’ hobby. Just something else they could add to their arsenal ready to be unleashed any time they caught him unawares. They always had such choice words of encouragement and they were well used.  
‘Faggot’. ‘Pussy’. ‘Queer’. ‘Momma’s boy’ had been the tamest one in the repertoire but it had still stung like a wasp.  
It was amazing how names could still hurt more than any blow to a kneecap or slap to the face.   
They left deeper scars.

‘I had _other_ aspirations’, Oswald said, settling for an explanation that was not strictly untrue.

‘It’s a shame’, Ed said.

‘Why?’ Oswald asked, puzzled.

‘You look good in suits’, Ed complimented, ‘You ever have a partner?’

‘Only under duress’, Oswald admitted, ‘Most of the girls were much taller than me. I wasn’t much good at sweeping them off their feet’.

‘Was it a good place to meet girls?’

‘I don’t know’, Oswald said but then tried to backtrack, realising the implications of his answer, ‘I…well…I was never…I was just there to dance. Not socialize. Besides if I’d brought a girl home my mother would’ve had a fit’.

‘Did you ever perform in front of people?’ Ed asked, seemingly heedless of Oswald’s discomfort.

‘Lots of times’, Oswald answered, reassured by the slight change in subject.

‘Were you ever nervous?’

‘Why are you asking me these things?’ Oswald asked, begrudgingly flattered by Ed’s interest but also perplexed.

‘I did a lot of recitals when I was growing up’, Ed said, indicating the piano against the wall, ’Just wondering if you ever felt like I did. Like everyone was watching your every move. Judging every little thing you did’.

‘You enjoyed it’, Oswald smiled knowingly, ‘All those eyes on you’.

‘Of course I did’, Ed smirked with relish, ‘Nothing better than proving everybody wrong’.

‘I wasn’t nervous either’, Oswald said truthfully.

‘Why?’

‘Because when I was up on stage, I could be anyone I wanted’, Oswald said contemplatively, ‘The only one watching me was my mother. I didn’t care about the others and they didn’t care about me. Sometimes I would have given _anything_ to be someone else’.

Ed felt discomfited at how downcast Oswald looked. It motivated him into action. Springing up so quickly it made Oswald jump, he crossed the room to his record player and, selecting a record, set it to play. As a swing number (one of Ed’s personal favourites) began to play, he went to Oswald and lifted him out of his chair.   
As expected, Oswald resisted.

‘What are you doing?!’

He tried to extricate himself from Ed’s grip but Ed was able to take both his hands and pull him firmly into the centre of the room. He got the feeling Oswald wasn’t really trying: perhaps he knew it simply wasn’t worth the energy to fight?

‘Lean on me when you need to’, Ed commanded.

‘What are you-‘ Oswald began but halted when he felt Ed beginning to sway them slowly from side to side. 

Oswald stumbled slightly and gasped.  
Ed helped him straighten.

‘Trust me’, he said quietly.

Oswald settled, looking up at Ed uncertainly. 

‘Now…move’, Ed said soothingly, ‘Take your time. But move’.

Oswald looked almost terrified, eyes flicking between Ed and the music like a child afraid to go out on stage. 

‘Move _with me_ ’, Ed said with finality.

Just as Ed was wondering whether he had made a massive mistake, Oswald’s eyes focused and Ed felt him inhale smoothly. He began to move in a gentle turn, feet moving silently over the wooden floor.

‘ _WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?_ ’

Ed glared at his reflection. It waved cheerily from the mirror on the wall. It was, impossibly given Oswald’s presence, the only being reflected in the surface.

‘ _MISS ME?_ ’ it taunted.

‘Like a hole in the head’, Ed replied internally, ‘One of me is enough’.

‘ _REMEMBER THAT WHOLE LOVE IS A WEAKNESS SPIEL FROM LAST WEEK? SOMEONE’S NOT PRACTICING WHAT HE’S PREACHING_ ’.

‘What’s love got to do with this?’ Ed asked coldly.

‘ _YOU’RE SERIOUSLY TRYING TO PLAY DUMB?!_ ’ it asked incredulously.

‘Couldn’t even if I wanted to’, Ed quipped, ‘You know me’.

‘ _WE CAN’T AFFORD TO GET DISTRACTED. WE ARE IN THE PROCESS OF BECOMING WHO WE WERE ALWAYS MEANT TO BE AND YOU’RE SLOW DANCING?!_ ’

‘I won’t get distracted. It’s just a bit of fun’.

‘ _YOU ARE THOUGH_ ’.

‘The only thing distracting me right now is you whining!’

Ed felt Oswald’s breath hitch slightly and realised his grip had grown too tight on Oswald’s hand. He smiled apologetically and they continued.

‘ _SO POINTING OUT WHAT A BIG FAT HYPOCRITE YOU ARE IS ‘WHINING’ NOW?_ ’

‘Love only works if both people are interested. Oswald’s not’.

‘ _YOU SURE ABOUT THAT?_ ’

Ed glanced down at Oswald but Oswald’s gaze was firmly fixed on his own feet. Ed could see his head nodding in time with the music as he kept time, compensating for his injured leg.

‘He’s a criminal mastermind’, Ed mused, ‘Not known for their capacity to hold long term, meaningful relationships’.

His doppleganger cocked his head, amused. Ed wanted to punch that smirk right off his face.

‘ _HE’S HOLDING US AWWWFULLY TIGHT_ ’.

‘He doesn’t want to fall’, Ed said obviously.

‘ _OH I THINK IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT_ ’. 

Ed watched his doppleganger begin to fade like smoke on the mirror’s surface.

‘ _FAR, FAR TOO LATE_ ’, it whispered.

 

‘ _What am I doing?_ ’ Oswald wondered to himself.

Ed held him easily, the taller man easily supporting his weight as he followed Oswald’s lead.   
The music was jaunty but the beat was easy to keep in time with, provided he didn’t put too much stress on his wounded knee.  
How long had it been since he had moved so smoothly?   
Even with two working legs, he had never moved so gracefully, always too conscious of the reluctant self-consciousness of his partners.   
Ed seemed to be lost to the music, his eyes half lidded and a dreamy expression on his face.   
He always looked that way when he was lost in thought.  
It made Oswald aware of just how close they were. His head was practically on Ed’s chest!  
Why had Ed wanted to dance with Oswald anyway?! It wasn’t something two men, two friends, usually did.   
Then again, they were far from normal.  
Maybe it was a joke?  
Yes, just an amusing notion Ed had cooked up. To help Oswald get over his embarassment at the photograph perhaps?  
But they had been dancing for easily seven minutes.  
So he should let go. One of them should let go. Right? He should let go now. Play it off as the joke it obviously was. Ed liked jokes.  
Then Ed spun him under his arm and Oswald’s stomach felt like it had erupted into butterflies. Just as he thought he’d fall, Ed caught him neatly and pulled him back towards him using only one hand. The sensation of being caught so easily and the surrender of control! Oswald felt his heart start to hammer. It was exciting! It was..intense.  
But then Ed was pulling him closer. Too fast! Too close!  
Faggot! Little Momma’s boy!

Oswald gasped as he let go of Ed’s hand, the memories of the bullies’ taunts possessing all the force of an intense electric shock.   
He staggered and just about caught himself, jarring his arm as he grabbed the top of one of the kitchen chairs.  
Ed’s eyes were wide and concerned. He made to move forward but Oswald held up a hand.

‘Just a bit dizzy’, he said, keeping his voice light hearted despite the lump forming in his throat.

‘You’re sure?’ Ed asked, unable to keep a trace of scepticism from his voice.

Oswald nodded vigorously.

‘I overestimated myself’, he said, waving a hand, ‘Wouldn’t be the first time’.

Ed seemed about to say something but Oswald practically heard his jaw click shut. Ed walked to the record player and turned off the music. Silence swept into the room.

‘I’ll make us some tea’, Ed said in a voice too eager for the task.

He began to walk towards the kitchen with long strides as if he were trying to outrun a downpour.

‘I’m sorry Ed!’ Oswald blurted out, ‘And… and thank you’.

‘Don’t be sorry’, Ed said, turning.  
His smile was genuine now as he cleaned his glasses. Oswald felt his face flush as he met Ed’s naked eyes.   
Without the glass partition, they somehow seemed more intense. Like a spotlight pointed right at Oswald. 

‘If you don’t push your limits, you’ll never know what you can achieve’, Ed said, replacing his glasses.

Oswald smiled and nodded.  
As Ed moved into the kitchen, he lowered himself into a sitting position on the couch. He picked up one of the cushions and placed it over his lap, praying that by the time Ed was done, the conspicuous bulge he could feel in his trousers would vanish.

‘Ed? How do you feel about singing?’ he asked, eyes landing on the piano.


	5. Trick or Treat?

‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

Oswald halted in his carving to consider Ed’s question.  
Ed was busy focusing on his pumpkin design, teeth visibly clenched as he guided his knife through the spongy orange flesh.  
If ghosts were real, Oswald could have quite a bit to worry about. Even if they weren’t, he doubted his own afterlife was going to be greeted with pearly gates. More likely a skeletal boatman with Fish Mooney waiting on the opposite bank with a baseball bat.

‘I bet you don’t’, he replied, returning his attention back to his pumpkin.

‘On the contrary. I prefer to be prepared. Especially in Gotham’.

Oswald nodded in agreement.  
The past rarely stayed buried in the city and it usually came back wrong.  
A squelching noise disrupted his concentration. Ed was stabbing his pumpkin with such force that the table was shaking.

‘Having trouble?’ Oswald asked lightly.

Ed sighed heavily.  
‘It’s that obvious?’ he asked, spinning the pumpkin around.

Oswald raised an eyebrow at Ed’s choppy, rushed looking design. It didn’t resemble anything very much: a lopsided mouth and one ‘eye’ higher than the other. He was confused. Ed was usually so good with his hands: he played piano, did origami, cooked…it seemed like there was no element of handicraft he couldn’t do. Except, obviously, pumpkin carving.

‘Have you never done this before?’ Oswald asked.

‘Is that obvious too?’ Ed asked wryly.

Oswald was a tad crestfallen. He had recommended the activity as a pleasant way to pass Halloween night. Something easy they could do together. They had even waited for nightfall and were carving by candlelight for the authentic experience. Ed liked a bit of a drama.  
Ed wasn’t used to being bad at something: it was written all over his face and partly over his apron where the pumpkin juice had splattered. 

‘May I offer some advice?’ Oswald asked.

Ed waved a hand invitingly.  
Oswald pulled Ed’s pumpkin over and picked up his knife.  
He carved as he spoke.

‘You can’t rush it and you need to carve _with_ the grain, not against it’.

Ed watched Oswald’s knife carefully. It was oddly impressive how intuitive Oswald made the task look. With minimum effort, he had neatened the eyes Ed had hacked into the pumpkin. Ed smiled to himself. This must be how the GCPD felt around him all the time.

‘It’s equally obvious you’ve done this before’, he commented.

‘I used to carve with my mother every year’, Oswald said, cleaning the knife as he passed Ed’s pumpkin back to him, ‘Though she preferred turnips. It’s what they used when she was a girl’.

Ed nodded in appreciation and approval at Oswald’s modifications.  
He was gratified to see Oswald beam at the recognition. He knew the feeling: for your talent to be acknowledged, the warm glow that came with being needed. It was a shame people all too often forgot your contributions or downplayed them for their own vanity. 

‘You didn’t go trick or treating?’ Ed asked, taking Oswald’s advice and carefully inserting his knife.

‘In _Gotham_ on _Halloween_?!’ Oswald guffawed, ‘Are you crazy?!’

‘We get some every year. The kids from the next building over come here’.

‘This is a nicer neighbourhood’, Oswald said.

Ed raised an eyebrow. 

‘Trust me Ed. It’s nicer’, Oswald repeated, looking as if he were reliving unpleasant memories, ‘The rats here are only the size of small dogs’.

‘That’s because they ate all the cats’.

‘Well, this is also technically indoors. Limited amount of knife wielding maniacs indoors’.

He lifted up his knife and smiled. Ed returned the smile and they clinked the knives together like wine glasses.

‘I guess children will climb any amount of stairs for free candy’, Oswald said sourly.

‘Oh I don’t have candy. I got these’.

He reached down beneath the table and lifted up a small basket. Nestled inside were multi-coloured mini Rubik’s cubes.

‘Ed, these are already solved’, Oswald said drily.

Ed looked legitimately surprised, doing a double take at Oswald’s words. 

‘Just checking they work is all’, he said, hastily picking each one up and rotating it every which way to confuse the patterns.

Ed had just finished ‘un-fixing’ the last cube as there was a knock on the door.

‘Right on cue’, Ed pronounced and went to the door, basket in hand.  
Oswald rolled his eyes as he heard ‘Trick or Treat’ in a chorus of innocent sounding little voices. He tried to go back to carving. From where he was sitting, he wouldn’t be seen so there was no reason to move.  
Why was Ed even giving them something anyway? He wondered if only those children who were wearing authentic or historically accurate costumes would be rewarded with a cube. It seemed like something Ed would do.  
Despite his intention to continue with his pumpkin, his head snapped up as he heard a snide voice drifting in from the hall.

‘What the heck are these?’ a princess, fittingly the ringleader, asked Ed with all the subtlety of a brick to the head.

She was looking at her cube as if Ed had just given her a dead rat. The reactions exhibited by the other members of her crew were little better.

‘Rubik’s cubes’, Ed explained, ‘You have to-‘

‘Can you eat these?’ a zombie interrupted.

‘No. You-‘

The sound of a cube being thrown back in the basket was somehow louder than it should have been. Ed looked down and saw its fellows join it like a strange kind of geometrical hail. The dismissive gesture and the inherent ignorance paralyzed Ed. He hated himself: he had killed people! And here he was taking attitude from children?! But he didn’t know what to do about it!

‘Let’s go guys’, the princess said, rolling her eyes.

They turned as a group and didn’t bother to keep their voices down as they proceeded to their next port of call.

‘What a cheapskate’.  
‘Yeah, he always gives stupid stuff’.  
‘Waste of time’.

Ed closed the door and looked down at the still full basket. He could hear the children knocking on his neighbour’s door. He clenched his teeth at their cheery ‘Trick or Treat!’ greeting.  
Coming back to the table, he placed the basket back under the table and sat down. Without pausing, he picked up the knife and restarted carving.  
Oswald noticed how Ed’s carving seemed a little more forceful than before, his eyes narrowed coldly at the helpless pumpkin.  
Despite Ed’s obvious simmering anger, Oswald could also sense how crestfallen Ed was by the rejection of his gifts (though he would never admit it). It wasn’t healthy to keep things bottled up. Had that been what had pushed Ed over the edge to begin with? Rejection?  
Oswald deliberately hadn’t pried into Ed’s ‘awakening’ as he called it, worried about pushing too far into a dark, personal place but he knew the experience Ed had just had at the door would not help him if he choked it down.  
He had to react to it. After all, the little brats deserved it.  
Oswald hated children.  
And they weren’t about to ruin their night.

‘I just had a thought’, Oswald said in an observational tone, ‘They didn't take their treats’.

‘Their loss right?’ Ed said in a low voice, jamming the knife into one of the pumpkin’s eyes.

‘That’s not what I meant’, Oswald said, holding up a hand to halt Ed’s impending massacre of a Halloween icon, ‘If you don’t get a treat, you get a…’

Ed’s eyes widened as he made the logical leap.

‘We can’t do anything rash’, he said warningly, ‘The police-‘

‘Will have their hands full’, Oswald interjected, ‘Like you said, its Halloween. In Gotham’.

Ed’s eyes went from hesitant to eager in a literal blink. He stood up and steepled his fingers, both index fingers pointing into his own forehead as if focusing his thoughts. Oswald smirked, satisfied his corruptive urging for vengeance had overridden Ed’s caution. Then again, he hadn’t had to push very hard.

‘We don't have much time; there's only five other apartments on this floor and we are on one of the highest floors in the building’, Ed extrapolated with the speed of an approaching freight train, ‘Give or take Mrs Miggins down the hall complimenting each one individually on their costumes, one girl taking extra time on the way downstairs due to her princess dress and the pirate at the back taking extra time to compensate for the cold cruel hand of childhood obesity, I'd say we have ten minutes to come up with a trick’.

‘Good thing I already started’, Oswald said, flicking on the stove, ‘Now, pass me the cornflour will you?’

 

‘This is an evil thing we are about to do’, Ed pronounced.

Oswald nodded.

‘It’s petty, immature, cruel and we should know better’.

Oswald nodded again, this time with a shrug.

‘We’re in agreement then?’

He turned to Oswald who looked back at him impassively.

‘We’re going to hell for this’.

‘Spirit of the season’, Oswald said, smiling resignedly, ‘After you’.

Reaching into the trash bag they had brought up to the roof with them, Ed pulled out some of the gooey contents. He grimaced with combined disgust and glee as he held out a hand over the edge of the roof. He let the mushy debris fall through his gloved fingers like crimson rain.  
Far below them, Oswald saw the last member of the offending group of trick or treaters leave Ed’s building. Right on cue: Ed’s calculations had proven correct as usual. They didn’t even notice the spatters land beside them on the sidewalk.

‘Make it fast’, Oswald counselled, passing Ed the trash bag with the solemnity of a priest performing a sacred ritual.

Ed took it with equal reverence and with no further ceremony, tipped it up and over the side of the building. Oswald didn’t need to see the spectacle to appreciate it. The splash as the contents of the bag made contact with the unsuspecting group and the resultant screams did that for him. He watched Ed hungrily survey the spectacle below him before giving a satisfied sigh and stepping back before their victims could look up and spot them.

‘You’re right: that cornflour really did help thicken it’, he complimented, patting Oswald on the shoulder.

Oswald waved a hand dismissively.

‘You did most of the work’, he said.

As Ed had calculated, the mix had taken next to no time. A potent mixture of their pumpkins smashed into pieces with the juicy insides that they had previously extracted, washing up liquid, a couple of bottles of cheap wine, chunky tomato pasta sauce and some basil leaves (for flavour) boiled on Ed’s super powered stove for five minutes. The resultant mix, disgustingly reminiscent of zombie movie effects, had then been poured into a large, heavy duty trash bag and carried upstairs, ready for launch.  
Halloween costumes weren’t known for being waterproof, durable or warm at the best of times. That princess dress had practically disintegrated!

‘Wasn’t really a trick though was it?’ Ed said, blowing into his hands to warm them, ‘More like assault with produce. Not very scary’.

‘They sound pretty scared to me’, Oswald chuckled, savouring the retreating footsteps of the children as they pelted down the sidewalk. 

He could hear their feet squishing in their shoes!

‘Look’, Ed said, pointing into the distance.

Oswald followed Ed’s finger and saw bright lights rising above the harbour. The annual Halloween firework display was kicking off.  
After a few minutes, they heard the muted bangs as the next round began, rainbow streamers chasing each other into the dark clouds above.  
Oswald was conscious they should get off the roof, just in case enraged parents were inbound on their position.  
But, despite the cold air and their breaths misting in front of them, he had no desire to go back in yet. The thrill of what they had done together had brought back some of the fire he had once felt. The excitement of punishing those who underestimated you was one of the greatest feelings in the world. But he had never realised how much greater it was to share it with another person.  
He hoped Ed felt the same way.

‘Happy Halloween Ed’, Oswald said quietly, stealing a glance at the other man.

‘Happy Halloween Oswald’, Ed returned, the multi-coloured sparks dancing in his glasses.


	6. Clipped Wings

Ed closed the door and leant with his back against it. He tilted his head back and sighed.  
He could hear Oswald descending the stairs carefully, his distinctive footsteps fading as he left.

‘Was I wrong about him?’ he wondered aloud and cursed inwardly when he heard an answer.

‘ _IT’S YOU WE’RE TALKING ABOUT. UNLIKELY TO SAY THE LEAST_ ’.

Ed walked past the mirror, ignoring his doppleganger watching his every move and began to idly toy with the crowbar he had been preparing when Oswald had knocked on his door. Or a person who had once been Oswald. 

‘Then that means those things they say about Arkham is true’, he said to himself.

Everyone had seen the adverts on the TV for Arkham. They crowed about the ‘world class’ medical facility with ‘revolutionary’ techniques and facilities. Very pretty lies that fooled nobody despite all the spit and polish. Arkham was little more than a Victorian madhouse with stained walls and disinterested guards. Ed had only been there once on a research trip.   
One trip had been enough.

‘ _MAYBE BUT YOU WON’T GET CAUGHT. YOU JUST HAVE TO STAY FOCUSED. BY THE WAY CAN YOU DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR HEART RATE?_ ’

Ed inhaled through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. His doppleganger was right: his heart was racing.  
He was unused to being afraid: he prided himself on being above such unpredictable emotions. Logic acted as an excellent barrier to boogeymen and bumps in the night but the sight of Oswald standing there covered in feathers, humiliated but smiling brainlessly had rattled him. It seemed as if Arkham had hollowed Oswald out: ripped out the Penguin and replaced it with a pretty songbird who would sing their praises and that they could show off as proof of their ‘cutting edge’ techniques.   
To have your brain rewired like that…to have your thoughts warped and blurred…  
And if this went wrong, he could end up-

He passed a hand over his face. There was sweat coating his fingers.  
He felt physically sick but also felt a red hot sensation in his stomach.  
On a sudden uncontrollable impulse, he threw the crowbar he had been examining early across the room. It clanked off the wall and hit the ground. Ed looked at the crack in the plaster with deliberate dispassion.  
Why did he feel so _angry_ all of a sudden?!

‘ _BECAUSE COBBLEPOT WAS A WORTHLESS INVESTMENT AFTER ALL_ ’, his doppleganger shrugged, answering Ed’s question, ‘ _BETTER TO LET HIM GO_ ’.

‘No!’ Ed snapped, paradoxically angry at the fact that he was angry, ‘If it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be doing this. We wouldn’t be who we are’.

‘ _AND YET YOU JUST THREW HIM OUT IN THE COLD COVERED IN FEATHERS_ ’.

Ed scowled at his doppleganger’s smug smile.

‘ _I HEARD HIS FOOTSTEPS SQUELCHING ALL THE WAY DOWN THE STAIRS_ ’.

‘You’re saying I’m angry because of that?’ Ed asked uncomfortably.

‘ _NO_ ’, the doppleganger said, pointing both index fingers at Ed, ‘ _YOU’RE SAYING YOU’RE ANGRY BECAUSE OF THAT_ ’.

‘I’m not in the mood for the pronoun game!’ Ed snapped, ‘Be serious!’

‘ _I AM BEING SERIOUS_ ’, the doppleganger said, lip curling in disgust, ‘ _YOU JUST TURNED YOUR BACK ON YOUR ONLY FRIEND. GUILT IS A PERFECTLY LOGICAL REACTION TO THAT_ '.

‘I’m feeling guilty?!’

‘ _IF YOU’RE NOT. YOU SHOULD BE_ ’, the doppleganger said, folding his arms.

‘You’re right! I should go after him, apologise-‘

‘ _AND THEN WHAT?_ ’ the doppleganger asked incredulously, throwing its arms up, ‘ _YOU CAN FIX A BULLET WOUND, NOT HIS BRAIN MATTER!_ ’

‘What if he’s like that forever?’ Ed mused.

‘ _THIS IS A SIMPLE CASE OF MIND OVER MATTER_ ’, the doppleganger said coldly, ‘ _HIS MIND DOESN’T MATTER_ ’.

‘He’s my friend!’

The doppleganger laughed.

‘ _JUST A ‘FRIEND’? COME ON, BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF_ ’.

‘Why do I even keep talking to you?!’ Ed snarled, fingers grasping at his hair, ‘Why are you even here?! You’re a projection of impulse and I’m fulfilling that impulse! You should’ve disappeared but you’re still here! Why?’

‘ _WHO SAYS I’M A PROJECTION OF ONLY ONE IMPULSE?_ '

Ed scoffed and threw up his hands.  
And what impulse was that when it was at home?!  
Home…  
The projection had only started manifesting again for brief moments when Oswald had begun staying with him at his home.  
Wait a minute…

‘What did you mean by _‘just a ‘friend’?_ ’ Ed asked his reflection, eyes narrowed.

‘ _YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING ME TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU?_ ’

‘Why else would you be here?’ Ed countered.

‘ _THIS ANGER YOU’RE FEELING FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HIM IN ARKHAM. IT’S NOT FAMILIAR TO YOU AT ALL?_ ’

‘It’s like with Miss Kringle. What that animal Dougherty did to her. The bruises-‘

‘ _AND HOW DID YOU FEEL ABOUT MISS KRINGLE?_ ’

The realization hit Ed with the force of a speeding bullet. He gasped from the mental impact.

‘You think I’m feeling… _that_ for Oswald?’

Ed held a hand up to his mouth as if to somehow force the words back inside.   
Yes, he had indulged in some…fantasizing for his own amusement and Oswald had proven to be a kindred spirit and pleasant company. Ed was naturally curious and had sometimes considered exploring different, some would have said extreme, sexual experiences: he did have quite a gap in that area after all. Ed had been intrigued by the conceit of having someone so powerful at his mercy: to see the human side of the man called The Penguin. There had also been the titillating idea that he, an upstanding GCPD employee, was harbouring a known murderer under his roof. It had been exciting: a treacherous little secret that Ed could occasionally relish before tucking it away again. 

Ed had been genuinely saddened when Oswald had left.   
Somehow the one bedroom apartment felt cavernous to him, his voice seeming to echo off the walls every time he breathed. It was strange. In all those years, he had never realised how lonely he had been.  
Now, after seeing Oswald, the pain was even keener. He hadn’t even visited him in Arkham!  
He was disgusted with himself: how could he have been so selfish?!  
But… didn’t this just illustrate what he had said to Oswald all those weeks ago?  
Love encumbered its host.  
If he did….feel that way about Oswald it could prove a debilitating distraction. The plan was too far along now: he couldn’t allow his unpredictable emotions to override the machinations of his brain. He couldn’t afford to forget why he had saved Oswald to begin with: to get his insight into how to become what he was meant to be. He hadn’t saved him for the sake of being charitable.  
Even though when he had staggered out of that trailer in the woods, Ed had been dumbstruck how bright Oswald’s eyes had been despite the pain he must have been feeling. They had been practically glowing! And there had been his wild demeanour and that breathy plea for help-

‘ _LIKE I SAID…_ ’

Ed looked at his reflection, startled by the quiet regret in its interrupting voice, absent of its usual flippant mockery. He was surprised to see its cheeks were coloured. Raising a hand, he realised it was truly a mirror image of his complexion at that moment.

‘ _BETTER TO LET HIM GO_ ’, it concluded and Ed felt his own lips move with the words.

‘You’re right’, Ed sighed heavily.

‘ _I KNOW_ ’, the doppleganger responded, its voice empty of relish at being correct.

‘I hate that you’re right’.

‘ _I KNOW_ ’.

Ed walked over and retrieved the crowbar. He would have to wipe it down again to eliminate his fingerprints.  
His grip tightened as he tried to focus on the task ahead.  
Love was messy.  
Love bred mistakes.  
Kristen Kringle had been a mistake. An unintentionally fortuitous one as it had turned out but Ed was forced to admit he knew that had been due more to the incompetence of others than his own innate brilliance.   
Edward Nygma rarely made mistakes and if by some mocking twist of fate he did, he never made the same one twice.  
Oswald had nothing to offer him now that his wings had been clipped.   
His friend was gone.  
James Gordon would just have to bear the brunt of his disappointment.


	7. What are Friends For?

The sound of the grandfather clock nearly made Oswald jump out of his skin. The shotgun he had been cradling in his lap fell to the floor with a clunk. Oswald instinctively jumped up, worried the gun would go off and stumbled.  
He cursed as he grabbed the back of the large armchair he had been dozing in and steadied himself. He picked up the gun with a shaking hand and wiped his forehead, casting a venomous look at the clock. Ten o clock in the morning stared back at him blankly.  
As the last remnants of sleep cleared from his brain, he remembered hearing it last night. That meant he had slept for nearly 12 hours. That was the most he had slept in days.  
Sitting the shotgun back on the chair, he tried to brush the creases out of his suit.  
He became conscious he hadn't eaten since the previous morning when he had forced himself to swallow a couple of rounds of dry toast.  
Preparing to head to the kitchen, his eye fell on the newspaper lying in the hall.   
He had fallen asleep with his eyes fixed on the door, shotgun primed. It was just as well the delivery boy knew not to ring the bell when he posted the newspaper through the mail slot. A shrill ringing noise would probably have given him a heart attack.  
Realising the paper would provide a useful insight into the situation in Gotham, he picked it up and cast a glance over the front page.  
Sure enough there it was on the front page in black and white.

_MONSTERS STILL LOOSE IN CITY! ARKHAM’S DARKEST SECRETS SPILL OUT!_

Beneath the sensationalist headline, fear bled through the pages. The entire city was scared. Oswald had been keeping a careful eye on the news. The Arkham escapees had started as a whisper, unfounded rumours of monsters and freaks creeping around in the shadows. But then people had started to see things. Not hobos, old ladies or drunks that nobody cared about and not in the blackness of night. The public started to see and like any worried animal, it started whining and snapping at shadows. The news story was dedicated to reassuring people that Arkham still had most of the ‘worst of the worst’ locked up.   
Oswald idly scanned the names, smirking with relish as he recognised some of his erstwhile acquaintances.   
The final name however wiped the smirk from his face.   
So, Ed was still in Arkham.

_'What's black and white and red all over?’_

Oswald rolled his shoulders, confused at the sudden mix of emotions that welled up.  
Ed had asked him the second day he had been recuperating in his apartment. He hadn’t realised at the time but now Oswald knew it had been his way of trying to cheer him up. Oswald, still under the influence of Ed’s sedative and feeling sorry for himself had given the answer 'me' and gestured to his wounded arm.  
Ed had found that funny. Somehow Oswald had laughed too.  
Then Ed had given him the answer: a newspaper.  
He had said he liked Oswald’s answer better.

The stab of anger Oswald felt was unexpected but understandable.   
After he had been freed from Arham, Oswald had come to Ed as a friend and been rejected. The memory of that awful mix of pity and unease on Ed's face infuriated him. Oswald remembered he had been sad at the time but not overtly so. His emotions had been crippled and lessened by Strange's treatment but now that poisonous anger had had plenty of time to ferment and bubble through his brain.  
Oswald savagely crumpled the newspaper and strode towards the kitchen.   
Ed hadn't even tried to help him!   
Just dismissed him! Then hadn't even bothered trying to contact Oswald again! Oswald had needed help back then; more help than he had ever needed before in his life and Ed had turned his back! 

He threw the newspaper down onto the kitchen counter and began to angrily throw open cupboards, looking for food.  
Well now the birds had come home to roost (literally in Oswald's case) and it looked like Edward Nygma wasn't as smart as he thought he was.  
Now he'd see how he liked _his_ brain being turned to mush with nobody to hear him scream!   
Nobody to even care you were being ripped apart!

Oswald grabbed the strawberry jelly and began to try and unscrew the jar lid, teeth clenched.  
Or perhaps Ed would concoct some hair brained scheme to escape. Oswald would have loved to see him try! He had to admit he was rather disappointed to find Ed was still in Arkham. There must have been chaos when Fish had escaped: had Ed been taking a nap?!  
What an opportunity to miss!  
The thought of Ed's lanky frame crawling through the air vents was comical. Because of course he’d go through the air vents! Such a dramatic escape would be too enticing for him to ignore.  
He'd be so pleased with himself, mentally congratulating himself on evading the guards..  
Or would be until they caught him.   
Dragged him back into that house of horrors and-

Oswald lost his patience and hurled the jar across the room.   
It shattered against the wall. Red, sugary lumps fell rolled down, fell onto the floor and splattered like brain matter. 

Oswald shook his head fiercely, trying to somehow physically shake the anger out of his brain.  
No. This level of callousness was uncalled for. Even for him.  
He wouldn't wish Arkham on his worst enemy.   
Well, except for Fish but ironically Strange's ministrations appeared to have backfired spectacularly in her case.  
No matter how he sliced it, he owed Ed his life and he couldn't blame him for reacting the way he had.   
It was right out of Oswald's own playbook!  
Liabilities were to be strangled in their cribs, not coddled and given a chance to grow.  
The condition Oswald had been in, he may very well have phoned the police to save Ed from himself or tried some other misguided attempt to 'help'!  
His memories of that time were unreliable. He remembered the events but in an odd disconnected way. It was as if he was watching someone else play him badly in an old TV show. It made him sick. His demeanour had been that of a whipped dog, always eager for praise and love no matter how many kicks it received.  
Even as they had tormented him, Grace and her hellspawn had forgotten one important thing about beaten dogs.  
Eventually they bit back. And they bit hard.

He spared a moment to smile with satisfaction at his stepmother's head, carefully mounted as her glass eyes stared lifelessly into the room. Barbara had been right about the placement on the dining room table; the way the light caught her eyes, you'd think she was alive. Screaming from behind frozen lips. It always made Oswald feel better.  
It had taken him four full days to calm down after he had killed her.  
When he had been under Strange's thrall, the world had been muted and colourless.   
Empty.  
Then his father had been murdered.   
Oswald had naturally taken revenge and just as naturally colour had flooded back into his life in a luxurious torrent of crimson ambrosia.   
Strange would have been pleased how well his method had worked. The problem was all that aggression and hatred had to go somewhere and when unleashed, it went all over the walls.  
Oswald remembered very little after killing Grace: one look at the stock in the wine cellar had explained why. He was still convinced the only thing that had broken him out of his psychotic episode had been the ungodly hangover he had woken up with on the fifth day.   
He remembered flashes of his hedonistic insanity. Slashing the paintings Grace had liked, ripping pillows to pieces, dancing with her corpse at one point…  
The Penguin had been reborn in a baptism of blood; alive and whole again.

Ed would have understood.   
He was probably the only other person apart from Oswald who could possibly appreciate the irony.  
Abstaining from murder and trying to be a 'good' person had made Oswald a worthless houseboy. Committing another three (four if you counted animals) had made him lord of the manor.  
It was strange how life worked out sometimes. Especially if you paid in blood.  
Ed could probably work out the odds (or the exchange rate) of such a thing.

Oswald could ask him.   
Arkham allowed visitors after all. There was nothing stopping him from visiting.  
Nothing physical anyhow.  
Murderer though he was, Oswald's stomach was churning at the mere thought of going into the city. Arkham would be uneasy enough. He had retained a healthy fear of those oppressive iron gates. His nightmares were haunted by the stench of bleach, the buzzing of flies, disembodied laughter, taut leather in his bleeding mouth, the machine…  
He shuddered, eye twitching as he forced the memories back into the dark recesses of his mind where they couldn't hurt him.  
Yes, it would be hard to re-enter Arkham but getting there would be the real battle.  
With Fish back on the streets all of a sudden the deep waters of Gotham didn't look so inviting.  
It had been two weeks since the breakout and he hadn't heard anything. Nobody knew where she was or what she was planning. What was the point of being the king of Gotham if all your advisors were incompetent?!  
Did she just not know where to find Oswald? Or was she biding her time and letting him sweat before the coup de grace?  
It was working. 

He hadn't slept and he had barely eaten since the night she had escaped.  
Despite Butch's objections, Oswald had even sent away his henchmen; better to be alone than surrounded by potential backstabbers.  
He didn't know what Strange had done to Fish but one touch from her and he'd been knocked out cold.   
Who knew what else she could do?!  
Butch had thought he was being paranoid.   
Oswald knew he was being a realist.  
Nobody, not even Butch, seemed to appreciate how dangerous Fish was. She had been bad before but now...  
Now, Oswald didn't know what she was.  
The Fish he knew would never have left him lying there. She would have killed him. He had been helpless and scared out of his mind.  
Just like now.

Butch had tried to reassure him. 

'It's ok boss. She can't touch you. Keep this up and people are gonna think you're afraid'.

Oswald had countered he wasn't the one who had turned tail and fled when the back of that bus had opened.  
That had shut Butch up; it was amazing how such a large man could look so much like a chastened child.  
So Butch had left. Gabe had left. Zsaz had left.   
They had all left, promising they were out of sight but not out of reach should Oswald need them.

Oswald tried to pretend he didn't need any of them.   
They were all nothing but mercenaries after all, their loyalty guaranteed only through a potent combination of fear and cold hard cash.  
Standing in an empty house, despite all his money and underlings Oswald realised he had never felt so alone.  
Well, save for when he had been hiding in the woods, nursing a bullet in the arm, a burning thirst for revenge and the heartbreak at losing his mother.  
He swallowed hard.  
This would be the third weekly visit to her grave he had missed!  
Masochistically he reflected that he was glad she was dead; better that than have such a coward for a son! A son that couldn't even face his fears to bring her some flowers!

He slammed a fist on the counter in frustration and savoured the punishing ache in his knuckles.  
As he breathed through the pain, a memory surfaced.  
That's right.   
There had been lilies at his mother's grave when he had visited.  
Ed had left them.  
As Oswald thought about it, he felt even worse for his earlier tirade at Ed. If Ed hadn't cast him out, he wouldn't have been there to meet Elijah on that cold day.  
His father would have died alone and unloved with nobody to avenge him or truly mourn him.  
Oswald wouldn't have known how it felt to have a father. No matter how brief it had been.  
That was something else he owed to Ed.   
Oswald didn’t believe in much. But he was a firm believer in equality. An eye for an eye, quid pro quo, tit for tat. As he thought about it, right now the scales were uncomfortably unbalanced.

But, if Oswald did decide to visit Ed, what would he say to him?  
They hadn't spoken in months. 

'Hi Ed’, Oswald practiced sardonically, ‘Sorry the murdering didn't work out, anyway how’s the food? Still terrible? Did you know I'm living in a mansion now?'

His voice echoed away into silence and he glared at his reflection in the reflective surface of the toaster, hating how greasy his hair was and the dark bags under his red eyes.  
Would Ed be happy to see him? Confused to see him?  
Would he even _want to see_ Oswald?   
Oswald ran his nails through his hair, frustrated at the mundane nerves now joining the unease that had been previously powering his system.  
What on Earth was he nervous for?!  
It wasn't as if Ed would have any other engagements. Other visitors were equally unlikely.  
By all accounts, Ed had burnt a lot of bridges (and tried to burn a lot of people) during his short yet memorable career as a master criminal.  
He had told Oswald he didn’t have any friends to begin with.

But...weren't he and Ed friends?  
There were no implications to be worried about anymore.  
No reason for Ed to disassociate himself from him. They were both monsters in the eyes of the public. The only difference was Oswald was a slightly more respected monster. He had a certificate.  
It wasn't right for Oswald to resent Ed for trying to stay under the radar back then and it wasn't right to leave him languishing in Arkham now.   
Ed had risked enough coming to see Oswald in the GCPD lockup before he had been taken to Hell on Earth. At least there, as forensic examiner, Ed had had a legitimate reason to be there.  
Despite the threat to his job and the rumours that would no doubt take wing, he had come to see Oswald. Comforted him. Offered to help.  
Oswald knew realistically Ed couldn't have risked a continued association with him without putting his own plans and reputation at risk.   
Hell, he was the one who had told Ed to forget him!  
And yet, Ed had still left flowers like he had promised.  
It hadn’t benefitted him in any way.  
Why would he do that if he didn't care?!  
Ed hadn't needed money or cajoling; he had helped Oswald when nobody else would, put himself at risk and raised him back onto his feet.  
He had been there for him.

Oswald made up his mind.  
His next move was so obvious!  
He grabbed the newspaper and shook it. As expected, a crossword puzzle book fell out from between the pages. Oswald picked it and headed upstairs with as much speed as he could muster to grab a shower and put on some proper clothes.  
The book wouldn't be very challenging for Ed but hopefully it would kill a few merciless hours. The inmates weren’t allowed pens but Ed was smart enough to remember all the answers as he went along.  
If Oswald called Butch now and left the manor in the next hour, he would make it just in time for visiting time at Arkham.  
And if Fish decided to make a move, well, it wasn't the first time he had been swimming with sharks.  
If she got in his way he’d drop her off a higher roof!  
Despite their respective misanthropic and antisocial tendencies, he and Ed were friends.   
Friends didn't abandon each other and they forgave each other when they made mistakes.  
He couldn't save Ed. Not yet.  
But he could keep him sane until he could.


	8. 'Tis the Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** A combined story based on two separate prompts. For an anonymous reader who wanted something ‘sweet and Christmassy’ and for another who wanted something based on a piece of fanart by the marvellously talented Selene AKA ‘nygmobblepot-fanart’ on Tumblr***

Butch just didn't get it.  
They had been around seven different department stores already! Couldn't Penguin just pick something?!  
The guy was in Arkham. It wasn't like there was gonna be a lotta competition when it came to who brought the best present!

'Butch if you sigh one more time I'll sew your lungs together'.

Butch’s jaw clenched at Penguin’s quiet reprimand.  
His boss was now critically examining a silk tie, his fingers rubbing the fabric.

'I just don't get why this is takin' so long is all', Butch grumbled.

'Picking the best gift takes time', Penguin replied, placing the tie back on the rack and moving on.

Butch was dismayed to see they were heading towards the perfume counters. He was not about to spend another two hours making his other arm a patchwork of different colognes! The amount of colognes he’d sniffed today was making his head ache!

'This guy left you high and dry’, he said, ‘Why are you getting him anything except a bullet to the brain?'

Penguin stopped dead and swivelled on the spot. Butch took an automatic step back. It still surprised him how fast Penguin could move with that busted knee.

'Do you want to reflect on what you just said?' Penguin asked, chin raised high in a challenge.

Butch didn’t need long to reflect. He knew what comparison Penguin was making.

'I said I was sorry about the feathers', Butch said quietly.

'I never said you were forgiven', Penguin said and resumed his original course.

'That's cold', Butch commented.

'Penguin remember?' Penguin said humourlessly without turning around.

'Speakin’ of penguins’, Butch said, resigned to his aromatic fate, ‘I hope this Nygma guy's got some insulation. Gonna be gettin’ colder soon'.

Penguin halted again and abruptly changed direction.  
Butch followed him (with no small amount of relief) towards a stand stacked high with different colours of cashmere sweaters.  
The Penguin immediately picked one up and smiled as he looked at it. 

‘Perfect’, he said.

Butch was flabbergasted.

'Seven stores for that?!’ he exclaimed, ‘Something you coulda got anywhere?!’

Penguin looked at him slowly. Despite himself, Butch felt sweat begin to dampen the back of his neck.

'And what is _this_ Butch?' Penguin asked, holding up the sweater.

Realizing the thin ice beneath him was well on its way to cracking, Butch desperately back pedalled. 

'Perfect. That's what it is. Not tacky like these!’

He gestured towards a stack of other sweaters that were 50% off. Unlike the sweaters Penguin had been drawn to, they were the sort of sweaters Butch’s grandma had once been infamous for knitting and inflicting on family members. All bobbles and itchiness. Some even made noises.

‘Not even that one?' The Penguin asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Butch guffawed when he saw the one his boss was pointing at.  
It was black and white: a line of penguins standing on a snowy hill. The one in the middle was wearing a red bow tie and antlers.

‘Depends. Is he a penguin kinda guy?’

Penguin’s nostrils flared and Butch’s attempt at humour evaporated.

‘Oh geez, I didn't mean, um-um…’

The Penguin’s eyes were like blue lasers and despite the amount of Christmas shoppers AKA potential witnesses around them, Butch felt totally alone. He was like a deer in highlights.  
After what seemed like an age, Penguin finally spoke in an unsettlingly light tone.

‘You _really_ think this sweater is perfect?'

‘Of course!’ Butch cried, ‘Would I lie to you?'

'Lying would put you on my naughty list Butch’.

Butch was nervous but also confused. Why did he always feel so unsettled when Penguin got angry?! The guy was literally half his size!   
What Penguin said next reminded him why.

‘Like Galavan was. Like my stepmother was. Like Fish was. Pretty pattern isn't it?'

Butch swallowed. Hard.

'On-on the-the sweater or as in what you just said?' he asked.

Penguin rolled his eyes and headed for the cash desk. Butch trailed obediently behind, wondering if this Nygma guy would appreciate the trouble Penguin had gone to. If he didn’t, that sweater could end up becoming a noose.

 

Ed threw the gift bag callously aside, trying to ignore the pangs of guilt pricking his gut.  
Another pointless gift to help him wile away the hours in Hell no doubt!  
Why did Oswald even bother?! Out of obligation?! He didn't owe him anything!  
Was he expecting a 'thank you' card?! When Ed couldn't even get a piece of charcoal to put tally marks on his cell wall?!  
Ed threw himself onto his bunk and turned his face to the wall. He threw off his glasses and covered his face with both hands.  
After a few minutes, he slowly sat up, face burning hot.

He picked up the bag, carefully dusted it and sat on the bed. The penguin on the bag seemed to regard him with silent reproach for how it had just been treated.  
Fitting really.

Ed felt ashamed of his childish outburst of temper.  
He hated ingratitude nearly as much as he did stupidity. It wasn't right to lash out at an inanimate object just because he resented his current situation.  
Oswald didn't have to send him gifts but he did.  
Fortnightly, like clockwork to coincide with Oswald's visits, there would be a package waiting for Ed when he returned to his cell.  
They were always already open, having been searched thoroughly by security but were never damaged.  
Ed suspected this careful handling of his possessions was down to The Penguin’s fearsome reputation, not the professionalism of the Arkham staff. If even one caramel went missing from a box of chocolates intended for Ed, the guilty guard’s sticky fingers might have gone missing in turn.  
Oswald believed in an eye for an eye but was always ready to haggle.

Ed feigned disinterest every time the guards told him about a new package. If they even suspected Ed enjoyed receiving them, it would be just one more thing to hold over his head. Oswald's gifts were never cheap trinkets either: he had an eye for luxury. It bothered Ed how much money Oswald was spending on him.  
But it didn’t bother him as much as the question of why Oswald was doing it.

‘ _YEAH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHY HE’S SENDING PRESENTS. KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT_ ’.

Ed blinked hard.   
He had no reflective surface in his cell (glass was too much of a probable weapon) but that only seemed to make his alter ego’s voice louder in his head.

‘He’s gloating’, Ed replied, voicing his most likely theory.

‘ _HE’S ONE OF, IF NOT THE, MOST POWERFUL GANGSTER IN THE CITY. HE’S GOT NOTHING TO PROVE. ESPECIALLY NOT HERE WHERE NOBODY CAN SEE_ ’.

‘Then he’s amused by the thought of me in here while he’s out there’.

‘ _DIDN’T SEEM THAT WAY TODAY_ ’.

‘Why does he keep coming here anyway? I’ve already told him everything I know about Strange’s house of horrors in the basement. It can’t be for nostalgia. No good memories here’.

‘ _BUT…THERE ARE GOOD MEMORIES OF SOMETHING HERE. SOMEONE HERE_ ’.

‘He requires my input then. Advice. Strategy’.

‘ _HE WANTS HIS FRIEND YOU DODO_ ’, his doppleganger deadpanned.

Ed laughed bitterly.  
‘He can’t possibly still think of me as a friend. After how I treated him-’

‘ _WHO WOULD WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH THE LITTLE PIPSQUEAK ANYWAY RIGHT? THE HAIR, THOSE ROUNDED SHOULDERS, THAT NOSE, THAT RIDICULOUS WADDLE!_ ’

Ed held his hands over his ears, trying to block out his doppleganger’s sadistic laughter.  
Unbidden, an image of Oswald surfaced in his mind.   
But Ed saw different traits than his alter ego.  
He saw those piercing blue eyes, that eagerness to please, a sharp mind, the savage energy when Oswald had killed Leonard, the way he had understood...

‘That’s uncalled for’, he said firmly, silencing his doppleganger.   
Temporarily. 

‘ _IT’S TRUE THOUGH_ ’.

‘Shut up! You don't talk about him like that!’ Ed yelled.

He jumped as he heard a loud slamming noise against his door. A passing guard warning him to keep it down.

‘ _SEE?_ ’ his doppleganger taunted, whispering even though the guard couldn’t hear him, ‘ _IF HE’S NOT YOUR FRIEND, WHY GET ANGRY WHEN I INSULT HIM? IF YOU’RE NOT HIS FRIEND, WHY WOULD HE SEND YOU GIFTS?_ ’

‘Because-because we're... friends’, Ed said, astonished at the realization that the emotional answer was the only logical one.

‘ _DING DING DING! WE HAVE A WINNER!_ ’

‘Very often the simplest suggestion is the correct one’, Ed commented, feeling a rush of warmth as he looked back at the gift bag.  
Was it truly that simple? There was no ulterior motive?  
He hadn’t pegged Oswald as a sentimentalist. 

‘ _SO?_ ’

‘So what?’

‘ _YOU ARE GONNA OPEN THIS ONE RIGHT? THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME_ ’.

As he sensed his doppleganger fade back into oblivion, Ed turned his full attention to the bag.  
He shook it, smiling despite himself at the clichéd motion.  
He already knew what it was; the spongy texture inside the bag suggested an article of clothing but what was Christmas for if not a bit of self-indulgence?  
He returned his glasses to their customary perch, flicked the bag’s gift tag open and read:

_Dear Ed,_  
This gift has much in common with Harvey Bullock climbing a flight of stairs.   
Hope it helps.   
Your friend,  
Oswald.  
P.S. Sorry for the lacklustre riddle but it’s the thought that counts right?  
P.P.S. I hope it fits. Butch was good for comparison of height but not width.  
P.P.P.S. Merry Christmas! 

Harvey Bullock climbing stairs?

'It's a sweater', Ed answered with glee and tipped the bag open.

A dark green sweater fell into his lap and Ed ran his finger over it. He sighed in pleasure at the feeling of the soft texture that was so at odds with his over starched prison uniform.  
He threw off his shirt without a second thought and pulled the sweater over his head. He nestled down into it, watching snow fall past his barred window. He could almost ignore the gibbering laughter and screams that echoed through the sterile halls of the asylum.  
As he rubbed his face against the sweater, he fancied he could smell just a hint of Oswald's cologne from the fabric.   
It smelt like spiced oranges.  
He pulled up the collar so it covered his mouth and breathed in deeply. He exhaled slowly, nurturing the warmth of his own breath as it gathered in the sweater.  
He had a fortnight until Oswald’s next visit.  
He couldn’t make a card but he’d think of some way to say ‘thank you’.   
Perhaps he could practice his origami? 

'Merry Christmas Oswald', he whispered to the darkness, 'and to you a good night'.


	9. Uncaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Another request from @danniruthvan on Tumblr who wanted more of our boys bonding as only they can***

‘Watch your step. Tree root’.

Ed obeyed Oswald’s direction, lifting one long leg over the unseen obstacle.  
He hoped there wasn’t much farther to travel. When Oswald had asked to blindfold him, Ed had agreed, intrigued by Oswald’s reasoning of not wanting to ‘spoil the surprise’.  
Ed could tell they were in a forest from the ambient noises and the fallen leaves crunching beneath their feet as they walked. Oswald was leading him by the arm, keeping an eye out for obstacles.  
They had left the limo parked on the roadside with Oswald’s driver waiting patiently for them to return. Ed was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed but was willing to permit Oswald whatever detour he had planned.  
It was the least he could do.  
Wherever they were headed now was better than the place Ed had just left.

‘Here we are!’ Oswald said and Ed blinked instinctively as his blindfold was removed.

He raised the flashlight Oswald had given him and took in his dark surroundings.  
He recognised the trailer as soon as his flashlight shone on it. Oswald was heading towards it, pulling out a keyring and using his own flashlight to identify the one he needed as he approached the trailer.

‘Back where it all began’, Ed said fondly.

He looked for the spot where he and Oswald had buried their unfortunate party guest, Leonard all those months ago. He smiled as he saw a crop of mushrooms had sprouted from the unmarked grave. Edible mushrooms.

‘Nice to see Leonard being useful’, Ed commented as he came to stand a few steps behind Oswald.

‘They’re delicious’, Oswald said, unlocking the trailer, ‘We should pick some before we head back’.

He opened the trailer door and waved a hand, indicating Ed should enter first.  
As Ed obliged, Oswald clicked the light on. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered into life, dust motes dancing in the gloom.  
Ed saw the trailer had been totally emptied of any furnishings.  
Save for a workbench and a chair.

The workbench contained a range of tools: hacksaws, files, wrenches, pliers, a set of knives, etc.  
The contents of the chair were far more intriguing.

'‘You didn't?’ Ed asked in delighted disbelief.

Oswald’s smile matched Ed’s own.

‘I tried to tie a bow on him but he would _not_ stop squirming’, Oswald said.

Cornelius Stirk, Ed’s one time cannibalistic cellmate moaned hoarsely around the leather gag in his mouth. He was slumped in the chair he was lashed to, drool dribbling down his chin. A egg sized lump on his head suggested how he had been subdued and relocated to the trailer from the maximum security wing of the asylum. 

‘He’s not Peabody or Strange’, Oswald said, lip curling as he recalled the various hurts they had inflicted on him, ‘But I thought you would appreciate it’.

Ed cast his eye over the tools on the workbench, brain already assigning each one a relevant body part.

‘Nothing like a good old practice round’, he said, picking up a wrench.

He tapped it hard against the hard surface of the workbench and smirked as Stirk stirred, eyes flickering as consciousness began to reassert itself at the noise.

‘Get back into the swing of things’, Ed said, swinging the wrench like a baseball bat, ‘Work off some steam’.

Oswald nodded approvingly at the heavy, satisfying _‘whump’_ it made as it swept through the air.

‘Work away’, Oswald invited, heading back outside, ‘Let me know when you’re ready to head back. And Ed? Have fun’.

‘Oh I intend to’, Ed smirked, turning his full attention to Stirk as Oswald left, ‘Somehow I don’t think _you_ will though’.

As he heard Oswald close the door, Ed leant in close to Stirk and lightly tapped his face.

‘Wakey wakey’, he whispered, ‘Remember me?’

Stirk’s eyes focused at Ed’s coaxing tone and narrowed as he recognised the person grinning at him. He growled and tried to lunge forward but choked as the collar around his neck tensed, keeping him bound to the chair which was bolted to the floor.

‘Still feisty as ever’, Ed said, ‘I have a cure for that’.

He clicked the pliers he had picked up a hair’s breadth from Stirk’s nose. They made a harsh snipping noise.  
Stirk suddenly went very still, eyes widening as he seemed to finally grasp the reality of his situation. 

‘Are you scared?’ Ed asked calmly.

Stirk didn’t need to answer. With the gag in his mouth, Ed wasn’t sure he could but the sweat running down his forehead, the rapid twitch in his right eye and the unpleasant visibly growing wet stain in the crotch of Stirk’s Arkham overalls told Ed all he needed to know.

‘Then maybe you're not as crazy as you look’, Ed commented and got to work.

 

Oswald was sitting outside on the fallen log he had warned Ed about when he heard the trailer door opening. Ed came out and Oswald detected heaving sobs from inside. Ed closed the door behind him and the noise stopped.  
Oswald was gratified to know that the soundproofing he had paid for had been worth it. He hadn’t heard any noise since Ed had started on Stirk.

‘Done already?’ he asked as he saw Ed approach.

‘Just taking my time’, Ed replied, taking a seat beside him.

Oswald noticed Ed had taken off his sweater despite the chilly night and sweat was beading on his forehead. A casual glance also told him that the blood staining Ed’s hands, face and shirt was not his own.

‘I left you an apron in there you know?’ Oswald said, ‘Though by the looks of things I suppose your sweater’s already a casualty’.

‘Oh’, Ed said, looking down at his bloodied shirt, ‘I didn’t notice. Too keen to get started’.

Oswald offered him a handkerchief and Ed wiped his face and neck clean of both his and Stirk’s bodily fluids.

‘I hope you brought more than that’, Ed said regretfully, looking at the mess he had made of Oswald’s handkerchief as he pocketed it for later use.

‘Worry about the cleanup later’, Oswald said, ‘Has it taken some of the edge off?’

‘Definitely. I had no idea how bad I felt until I started in there’, Ed said, then gave a satisfied shiver, ‘Aren't you cold?’

‘Penguins don't get cold’, Oswald smiled before growing serious, ‘Ed I have to be honest with you’.

‘You didn't let me out of Arkham just because you missed me’.

‘Well I-‘

‘I'm joking Oswald’, Ed said gently, ‘How can I help?’’

‘I'm running for mayor’, Oswald said suddenly and gave a noticeable pause, watching Ed expectantly.

‘What?’ Ed asked, confused.

‘You're not laughing’.

‘Why would I be? Makes logical sense in a historical context. Mob bosses have often held positions of political power’.

‘Yes: to get richer or more famous’, Oswald said, ‘I'm doing it to keep Gotham on the rails. You know the worst part about Theo Galavan being mayor was he was lousy at his job? All that scheming to get all that power and he did nothing with it! And now we have literal monsters in our midst and the current mayor doesn’t give a damn!’

‘If it's got you worried, we should all be worried’, Ed said, taken aback by Oswald’s altruistic reasons for running for election.  
He knew they wouldn’t be totally unselfish but compared to some of the other candidates, Oswald’s reasons made him a veritable saint and he already had enough money and power… Perhaps the electorate could be persuaded to buy the notion of ‘making Gotham safe again’ and ignore Oswald’s criminal past. It would be a longshot but managed correctly, it stood a real chance of succeeding.

‘Better to have a benevolent tyrant than a complete monster or an apathetic idiot’, Ed pronounced, ‘Alright then. Though I’m not sure how I can help you Oswald, you can count me in’.

‘Thank you’, Oswald smiled, ‘As for how you can help, just be yourself Ed. That’s all I need right now’. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, looking up at the distant stars.

Ed examined the subconscious relationship between Oswald running for mayor and getting vengeance for his mother’s death at Galavan’s hands. Oswald’s mother had died because of Galavan’s pursuit for power. Now Oswald would take that position for himself and do it correctly, ensuring his mother died for a reason. He wondered if Oswald was aware of the connection.  
He thought about the last time he had seen Oswald take revenge as his eyes were drawn to the nearby mushroom patch.  
Oswald hadn’t needed or wanted a range of tools even though Ed had offered them.  
All he had used was a knife.  
But he had really known how to use it. Despite the frenzied slashes and stabs he had subjected Leonard to, Oswald had known (either through instinct or experience) exactly where and what to cut to hasten suffering but not death.  
Ed had watched him with utter fascination. Neither his imagination or prior experience of killing had prepared him for Oswald’s revenge: the colours, the movements and the sounds had become an intense, bloody performance. As he had watched and swore never to forget a single detail of the spectacle he was witnessing, Ed knew he could mimic Oswald’s techniques flawlessly (they were effective but uncomplicated) but he could never hope to replicate his _style_.  
And when Oswald had smiled at Ed, blood from where he had kissed Leonard’s forehead dribbling down his chin, Ed had known his plan had worked. The Penguin was back and Ed had helped it happen.  
Oswald was a true artist, everything Ed had hoped and known he would be.  
He had shown Ed what it was to be truly uncaged. Truly free.  
And Ed had been his inspiration that night.  
What they had shared had been…beautiful.

 

Oswald, for his part, felt aflush with success. Ed was finally acting like himself again. Every time Oswald had come to visit him in Arkham, he had been visibly diminishing, his intelligence and vigour being drained by the oppressive atmosphere and brutal regime he was being forced to survive under. When Oswald had picked him up from the asylum, the look of relief on Ed’s face had been priceless.  
But Oswald of all people knew the importance of regaining your sense of self.  
Acquiring Stirk had been an investment in Ed’s wellbeing: Oswald needed him in peak condition to help him with his campaign.  
Medical science was wrong.  
Bloodletting worked brilliantly at purging the body of poisonous infection.  
As long as it was someone else’s blood. Not your own.  
He thought about the last time he and Ed had been in a similar situation. Ed had been a spectator then, watching raptly as Oswald had exacted revenge on Leonard. Though Leonard had been Oswald’s primary concern as he had vented every ounce of rage and grief that was racing through his veins by opening Leonard’s, he had never lost awareness of his audience.  
Ed had watched the whole thing with awestruck eyes. The only sound he had made was an occasional appreciative noise if Oswald struck a particularly nasty blow or used a technique Ed had obviously never considered.  
When Oswald had finally finished and Leonard (as well as various pieces of Leonard littering the floor) had stopped twitching, Oswald had bestowed his customary kiss on Leonard’s forehead. A gesture of gratitude for the evening’s entertainment. As he had straightened, he became aware that Ed was quietly applauding, eyes shining.  
Oswald had smiled fondly at how impressed Ed had been by what he had done and the realization that he was _inspiring_ Ed.  
Motivating him. Helping to make him the killer he desired to be.  
It had been…flattering.

 

‘So, how did you wrangle Stirk anyway?’ Ed asked.

‘Arkham was quite happy to be rid of him to be honest’, Oswald shrugged, ‘The new administrator’s a real haggler. Tried to pawn off a couple more of the more troublesome patients when I asked for Stirk. Some of Butch’s associates did the actual ‘wrangling’ while I signed your release papers: I warned them to be ‘gentle’ though. No sense in giving someone a broken toy to play with’.

‘And he’s such a wonderful toy’, Ed said, rubbing his bruised knuckles, ‘So much more pliable without his sharp edges’.

‘You’d best get back to it’, Oswald said, gesturing to Ed’s knuckles, ‘Before they swell up. There’s ice waiting in the limo for afterwards’.

Ed nodded and stood up, brushing the seat of his pants where they had touched the log.  
Oswald noticed Ed holding something out to him.  
It was the knife they had used on Leonard.  
It must have been on his person when he had been arrested by the GCPD. All Ed had with him were the effects that Arkham had returned to him on the way out.

‘Your turn to carve’, Ed invited, nodding suggestively towards the trailer.

‘Oh no Ed’, Oswald said, shaking his head, ‘He’s yours. I don’t want to impose’.

‘There’s enough of him to go around. He’s a big guy’, Ed said, ‘And, well, I want to share this with you. How am I supposed to improve without my teacher watching?’

Oswald’s face flushed. Ed really thought of him like that? 

When Oswald still seemed reluctant, Ed insistently pressed the sheathed knife into his hand.

‘Please?’ Ed asked, ‘When you’re mayor, we may not get another chance’.

At Ed’s regretful tone, Oswald took the knife and got to his feet.  
He had liked the ‘when’ in that sentence. Everybody else always used ‘if’.

‘My dear Ed, we will always make time for this’, he promised, ‘Besides I’ve learnt a few new tricks you might appreciate’.

Ed smiled in response as Oswald clicked the knife open. It shone in the moonlight as they approached the trailer side by side.

Ed opened the door and the whimpering from the occupant began anew.  
Oswald felt himself stand on something as he entered. Looking down, he realised it was Ed's ruined, blood soaked green sweater. Inside it, nestled like bird eggs, were Stirk's needle like teeth. Globlets of gum still clinging to the teeth gleamed wetly in the dim light. Oswald looked up at Ed and saw his own excitement at the prospect of the blood to come reflected in the dark eyes hidden behind Ed’s glasses.  
God, he had really missed Ed!  
Little did Oswald know that Ed was thinking the same thing about him.

‘After you’, Ed said courteously.

Oswald advanced on Stirk and Ed locked the door behind them.  
There was silence in the forest.


	10. Peacocking

Oswald clicked his tongue again.  
By Ed’s count that was five in the last ten minutes. They were becoming more frequent.

They were in Ed’s bedroom in the mansion, unpacking his effects from a variety of trashbags.  
They had called to his apartment that morning to collect them, Ed having decided to relocate to Oswald’s mansion rather than his apartment.  
As they had neared the building, Ed’s theories had been proven right.  
By now, everyone knew that Edward Nygma was out of Arkham and a few more enterprising journalists had decided to set up camp outside his building, waiting for him.  
As Ed had hastily bolted inside the complex, followed by some of Oswald’s goons to help him carry boxes or bags, Oswald had distracted the crowd outside by being the perfect politician. He had been charming and engaging but utterly ignored any questions, responding instead with pleasant distracting platitudes and flattery towards those who tried to draw him out.  
He had managed to verbally spar with the gaggle of reporters for an hour. This had allowed Ed and his associates enough time to pack up most of his clothing and belongings. Then they had snuck out the backdoor and circumvented the crowd. They had put Ed’s belongings into a waiting van in the alleyway then retreated to the limo. One of the gangsters had gone over and whispered into Oswald’s ear once Ed was safely hidden in the backseat of the limo and he had hastily excused himself. They had both laughed on the way back to the mansion, thinking of the reporters hovering outside Ed’s now empty apartment, waiting in vain for him to re-emerge.  
Oswald had offered to help Ed unpack and Ed had been glad of the company. But Oswald had displayed a decidedly unenthusiastic response to some of the clothes Ed had brought with him.  
Hence the disapproving tongue clicking.

‘Ed, here’s a riddle. How can you give me such good fashion advice but have such trouble dressing yourself?’ Oswald asked.

‘I guess it’s a gift that can’t be used selfishly’, Ed shrugged.

‘Oh dear’, Oswald breathed sadly, examining the next shirt in the pile, ‘This one’s got sailboats on it’.

Ed couldn’t argue with that but he could offer a defence.

‘I never wore that. I only bought it because it was cheap’.

'I suppose I should be grateful I haven't found any spandex yet', Oswald muttered, putting the sailboat shirt aside as if it were a dead animal.

'Don't worry. I would have warned you by now', Ed teased.

It felt good to be doing a clean out.

Clothes shopping had always been a chore for Ed: it was just something that had to be done because there were laws against being naked in public.  
He hated the queueing, the disinterested staff and especially the ridiculous sizes on the labels. He resented paying so much for one pair of jeans that wouldn’t last three months. Or for shoes that appeared waterproof but weren’t. Or shirts that couldn’t stand up to one stray drop from one of Ed’s chemicals as he worked on one of his personal experiments.  
This was why he mostly bought his clothes based on economics rather than subjective ideals of style.  
They said you ‘couldn’t put a price on fashion’.  
Ed knew you could and it was bloody expensive!  
He disliked the experience of clothes shopping so much that he mostly brought his purchases home to try on, only to have to return to the shop the next day, receipts in hand to return them. If he found something that fit him in the leg, it didn’t fit him in the waist. He would pull on jackets that were just the right length but watch in frustration as the ends of the sleeves retreated up his arms as he moved.  
It was so inefficient!

‘I’m sorry Ed but all these have to go’.

Ed saw that while he had been putting the remainder of the books he had managed to rescue from his apartment on shelves, Oswald appeared to have categorised the entirety of the clothes he had brought along. There was a small pile folded neatly on the bed but beside them was an alarmingly larger pile that Oswald was shovelling into waiting black trashbags. Ed wasn’t annoyed by Oswald’s assessment: he supposed he should have expected it. It was no secret Oswald enjoyed fashion. Only logical he would take certain elements of Ed’s eclectic wardrobe as a personal insult.

‘They’re in good condition’, Ed shrugged, ‘What’s wrong with them?’

Oswald indignantly picked up a black shirt that was decorated with navy blue and purple concentric overlapping circles. As he moved the shirt slightly, gold glitter shimmered along the circles. Ed narrowed his eyes. The kindest thing that could be said about the shirt was that it was fascinating in its gaudiness.

‘I won’t have this in my house’, Oswald said seriously.

‘I don’t even remember buying that’, Ed mused, trying to recall the origin of the offending shirt.

‘Who would?! It probably hypnotised you into picking it up’, Oswald said, casting it into the black trashbag from whence it had come, ‘And what about this one?!’

‘You saw that one when you were staying at my place. You didn’t say anything back then’.

‘I’m sorry but the bullet wound in my shoulder was my more pressing concern!’

‘What do you suggest then?’ Ed asked, amused by Oswald’s fervour.

Oswald smiled as if that was the cue he had been waiting for.  
He went to the heavy wardrobe in the corner and threw it open.  
Ed saw it was full of clothes, mostly suits with shiny shoes lined up neatly beneath them.  
He looked at Oswald who beamed at him.

‘I hope I got your size right’.

Ed was taken aback. He hadn’t opened the wardrobe before now, assuming that it probably contained old clothes belonging to Oswald’s father or his family but it seemed that Oswald had pre-emptively filled it with clothes for Ed.

‘Are all these for me?’ he asked.

‘The ones you want. I’ll get rid of any that you don’t. Now that you’re part of my campaign, you’re going to have to start dressing like what you are’.

‘And what's that?’

‘A peacock. Don't look at me like that. With all that attention seeking you do?’ Oswald teased, using his fingers to mimic a pair of glasses perched on his nose, ‘‘Look at me I'm so clever?’’

Ed laughed, holding up his hands in surrender.

‘I like attention. I can't help that. If I could, I wouldn’t have ended up in Arkham’.

‘Or dress up as a lumberjack's grandfather’, Oswald asked, raising an eyebrow as he held up a black and red chequered overcoat.

‘Touché’, Ed conceded, taking the overcoat from Oswald and throwing it into the waiting trashbag.

Oswald offered him the matching trousers and once the outfit was all together, Ed tied the yellow tag at the top of the bag to close it.

‘There’s an old strategical argument that one should always appear less than they are’, Ed said, ‘That way you surprise your enemies’. 

Oswald took the bag from him and unceremoniously kicked it out into the hallway.

‘Usually you don’t need to make an extra effort’, Oswald replied, ‘People underestimate those they shouldn’t anyway’.

‘Speaking from experience I presume?’

‘I never said it hasn't been an advantage’, Oswald shrugged, ‘But I make sure once people figure out their mistake, they don’t get the chance to make it again’.

‘There is no opponent more dangerous than one that's hurt or cornered’, Ed quoted.

‘Not if you shoot them in the head or stab them in the back’, Oswald smirked, ‘Dead opponents aren't dangerous at all’.

‘Maybe I should emulate Einstein. Just multiple copies of the same suit?’ Ed joked, flicking through the suits hanging in the wardrobe, ‘Save time getting dressed in the morning’.

‘Um... how about this one?’ Oswald asked, pulling out one suit in particular.

Ed was taken aback by the colour. Unlike the other muted tones of black and grey in the wardrobe, this one was green. Not overtly light but noticeable.

‘A bit...bright isn't it?’ Ed asked, unsure.

Oswald looked downcast and Ed hastily backtracked.

‘Then again you are the expert here and like you said, ‘peacock’ right?’

He took the suit from Oswald and was startled at how soft it felt as he ran his fingers over it.  
There was also a crisp white shirt and a black tie hanging inside the jacket.

‘If you're not sure, you can try it on?’ Oswald offered.

Ed laid the suit carefully onto the now empty bed and began to pull off his sweater. He had just got it off over his head when he realised Oswald was still watching him.  
As he wondered whether he should ask for some privacy, the same realization seemed to occur to Oswald as he smiled apologetically and left the room to wait in the hallway.

As Ed pulled on the trousers, he reflected on Oswald’s reaction and as soon as he had finished dressing, had an epiphany about the suit.  
The way it fit, Oswald’s personal feelings about it, how it stood out from the others, the lack of a label, the sewing room and mannequin he had noticed on the way down the hall. All telling evidence as to the suit’s origin.

‘This suit is tailored’, he said in a raised voice so Oswald would hear.

Oswald took Ed’s call from inside the room as a signal to re-enter, judging enough time had passed for him to change.  
He walked in and saw Ed examining himself in the floor length, free standing mirror as he buttoned up the suit jacket.  
He was glad to see his instincts had been right on the money. The suit reflected colour back into Ed’s face, the soft velvet like green enhancing his dark eyes and hair perfectly. The outline was sharp but not too sharp: it clearly communicated ‘look but don’t touch’ but was designed for comfort.  
He saw Ed was analysing the suit and awaited the feedback with a mixture of eagerness and trepidation.

‘Most of them are’, Oswald replied, ‘I wanted to make sure they had a good chance of fitting’.

‘I mean it was made for me’.

‘You mean it _fits_ like it was made for you?’

‘No. I mean it's been _made to fit_. Specially customised. Oswald, did you make this?’

Oswald knew there was no point asking how Ed knew. Of course he knew. He obviously already knew the answer to the question he had asked but he was patiently awaiting Oswald’s.

‘Well, I mean...’, Oswald said, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘I drew up the sketches, picked the fabric and cut out the shapes. Had to-um-outsource the sewing: I'm not good enough to sew a whole suit myself yet’.

Ed looked back at his reflection and was glad his face remained neutral despite the feeling welling up inside him.  
Oswald had made him a suit.  
Ed never got presents. Never mind a carefully considered, personal, handmade one.  
One so unique.  
To hide the overwhelming happiness that threatened to make him tear up, Ed resorted to an honest fact.

‘I didn't know you could do things like this’, he said.

Swelling on the undisguised praise and borderline wonder in Ed’s voice, Oswald began to babble.

‘Technically it's my first time doing this much. Just something I picked up from my father. To-to be honest I'm just glad it's not, you know, falling off you. And-and I know the buttons are a bit off and it's a bit too neat around the shoulders and-’

‘It's perfect’, Ed stated matter of factly.

‘You don't have to spare my feelings Ed. if you don't like it-‘

Ed turned and Oswald stopped talking when he saw Ed was smiling warmly.  
And…were his eyes glistening?

‘I said it's perfect’, Ed repeated and rolled his shoulders comfortably, ‘And I'm right’.

‘Well-it’s -it’s nothing really’, Oswald smiled, but then his eyes flicked to Ed’s shoulder, ‘Oh you got a little thing there’.

He reached up and plucked a bit of curled up string off Ed’s shoulder.  
The movement was so quick and small, it took for a moment for Ed to realise what Oswald had done.  
Oswald threw the string into a nearby wastebasket and moved on to pairing Ed’s socks. Underwear and socks were necessary and as such, had survived his ruthless assessment.

But Ed didn’t move.  
To anybody else, Oswald’s quick removal of the string would have been meaningless but it spoke volumes to Ed.  
Ed had always found the dual minefields of ‘personal space’ and ‘touch’ to be difficult to navigate.  
He found the easiness of Oswald’s gesture and lack of hesitation admirable.  
Anytime Ed tried to reassure others or communicate friendship through physical touch it just seemed to make them uncomfortable.  
Gordon had gone rigid when Ed had hugged him that one time and he had only realised afterwards that he seemed to have accidentally crossed some kind of imaginary macho boundary.  
Miss Kringle had flinched away when he had taken multiple sniffs of her perfume to demonstrate he appreciated it and even when they had become ‘an item’, she had never enjoyed open displays of affection. Then again, she hadn’t really enjoyed private ones either: they had never ‘cuddled’ or held hands. Ed had theorised this was due to the multiple bad relationships she had experienced so hadn’t pushed the issue but looking back on it, had she been expecting him to?  
Was it his height that put people off? It was a fact that some people felt intimidated when in close proximity to someone taller than themselves. Some primordial warning sign buried in human genetic configuration: anyone bigger than you is a threat.  
But…Oswald was far smaller than Gordon. He was smaller than Kristen! And he had never seemed intimidated by Ed. Even when Ed had found him injured in the forest, Oswald had been trying to swing at him with a plank of wood!  
Oswald didn’t seem to be afraid of anything.  
Ed wished he could be like that.

It was a combination of this desire to prove himself and his gratitude for what Oswald had done for him that made him reach out and touch Oswald’s shoulder as he sat on the bed.  
Oswald wheeled around instantly and Ed hastily withdrew his hand. Oswald blinked as he realised what the pressure he had felt on his shoulder had been.

‘Sorry’, Ed said, flushing with self-recrimination.

He turned away and went to the next trashbag, this one containing his records and player and began to unpack them, trying to distract himself and downplay the mistake.  
Why couldn’t he do anything right?!  
Of course Oswald didn’t like to be touched!  
Hadn’t he fought Ed every time Ed had tried to force him back into bed?! Hadn’t he resisted Ed’s offers of help when Ed had offered to help him into the bath?!  
And besides that, Oswald was a gang lord! He probably only experienced physical human contact when he was being assaulted or threatened! Or exacting some violence of his own!

Ed froze as he felt a hand touch his shoulder.  
Oswald’s hand.

‘I’m sorry’, he heard Oswald say, ‘When you've been on the receiving end of a couple of attempted murders you get a little jumpy’.

‘Understandable’, Ed said, shocked at the gentleness of the apology and the gesture.

Oswald patted his back companionably before withdrawing his hand altogether.  
Ed watched him drag the last bag of clothes deemed unsuitable out to the hall and pause in the doorway.

‘Dinner at six okay?’ Oswald said, tapping his wristwatch, ‘I’ll take these downstairs and leave you to get settled’.

Ed nodded.  
Oswald began to close the door over but stopped when he heard Ed speak in a quiet, gentle voice.

‘Thank you Oswald. For everything. I owe you’.

‘Friends don’t owe friends silly’, Oswald replied simply and shut the door.

He looked resignedly at the five large trashbags in front of him.

A bit of manual labour was a small price to pay to save Ed from himself.

‘But if you could avoid indulging in any more thriftstore chic I’d appreciate it’, he muttered as he began the laborious process of dragging the bags downstairs.


	11. The Crown You Never Take Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a request from @danniruthvan on Tumblr: Ed gets a haircut

‘I don’t understand’, Ed said, shifting slightly as the barber tied the gown around his neck.

‘I bet that phrase doesn’t get a lot of use in your vocabulary’, Oswald said, eyes still scanning the numerous pictures in the magazine he was holding.

Ed frowned as the barber manually tilted his head to the left and right, critically examining Ed’s hair with pursed lips. Judging from the man’s own gaudy yet impressive blonde dyed mohawk, Ed was in for an ‘interesting’ afternoon. He silently prayed Oswald would pick a hairstyle for him that looked like it belonged to an actual person and not a videogame character.  
He knew his hair had become somewhat unruly since his incarceration but he didn’t think it was that bad!

‘My hair’s only use is to keep my brain warm’, Ed said, tolerating the barber’s ministrations as he flicked some hair upwards to see the effect, ‘Why spend hundreds of dollars on a biological hat?’

‘We are not spending ‘hundreds of dollars’. Unfortunately for Maurice here’.

The barber waved a hand as a signal for Oswald not to worry about that and Oswald continued.

‘We're making an investment’, Oswald elaborated, ‘If suits are battle armour, your hair’s your helmet’.

‘Fashion is far more strategic than I realised’, Ed grumbled.

‘You’re stepping into a different arena my friend’, Oswald said as he came over to stand beside Ed’s chair.

He showed Ed the magazine and indicated a photograph in the top right.

‘I like this one’, he said.

He took the magazine away and Ed saw the barber prepare his scissors.

‘Don't I get a say in this?’ Ed asked incredulously.

‘ _Does_ he get a say in this?’ Oswald asked Maurice, showing him the picture again for reference.

The barber nodded approvingly before turning to Ed.

‘Nope’, Maurice said.

‘Sorry Ed’, Oswald said, returning to the sofa to wait, ‘Maurice is the expert here’.

Ed settled down in his chair, resigned to his fate.

 

 

‘How much do I owe you?’ Ed asked, running a hand through his newly cropped hair.

‘Don’t worry about it!’ Maurice said, smiling as he tapped an electoral sticker on his till, ‘Just happy to help Mr Cobblepot’.

 _‘Seems like a flawed business plan’_ , Ed thought as he left the shop and caught sight of Oswald’s own hair as he waited for him. How much had that cost Maurice?

Ed wasn’t about to complain about the free service though. With his financial situation, he couldn’t have afforded to get a haircut at the barber’s college.  
As he and Oswald passed a store window, he caught sight of his reflection. Despite his initial reservations, he found he liked the hairstyle. It was clean, surgical and most importantly low maintenance.  
Oswald had good taste in more than suits.  
That was another thing.  
Clothes. How much had it cost Oswald to get him all those suits? To get him the suit and coat he was wearing at that very moment?  
He hadn’t asked Ed for anything in return. Or was it going to be one of those mobster things? He’d eventually ask Ed to do him a favour in exchange for the material comforts he had given him? Ed wouldn’t mind (his moral compass was practically non existent at this point) but he was unsure how long he would be staying at Oswald’s in the meantime.  
But, Ed didn’t have many other options other than to rely on Oswald’s goodwill for now.  
He was more than happy to help him with his campaign: he’d promised he would. But he would need paid work soon. He wasn’t about to take advantage of his friendship with Oswald to keep a roof over his head.  
From a mental well being point of view, he also knew he needed to work. His active brain demanded stimulation. To be challenged. To be praised.  
What kind of jobs were open to him now anyway? Certificate or not, there were bound to be some employers (especially those in his former profession) who would balk at his past…indiscretions. Perhaps he could doctor his resume? Use an alias? Tactically sidestep any prying questions at interviews, provided of course he got any interviews. Maybe he should just find out where some interviews were being held, lure one of the prospective candidates away, dispose of him quietly, take his place-

‘You okay Ed?’

He blinked as he realised he had zoned out in the midst of his theorising. He and Oswald had walked three blocks since they had left the hairdresser. 

‘Just....getting used to being outside’, Ed lied to Oswald, sighing as he looked up into the blue sky, ‘I never enjoyed going out but it's amazing how much I missed it’.

‘I understand’, Oswald nodded sympathetically, ‘Makes a big difference to look up at the sky without bars in the way’.

They crossed the street and walked under the cast iron arch leading to Gotham Botanical Gardens.  
They walked in silence for a while, the sunlight through the trees casting shadows on them as they passed beneath the bare branches.  
Ed blew into his cupped hands, his fingers chilled despite the leather gloves and noticed Oswald was trailing about a step behind him.  
He was also trying very hard to ensure Ed couldn’t hear his laboured breaths as he walked.  
Ed cast an eye around and located a bench beside the duck pond.

‘Let's sit for a minute’, he said.

Oswald nodded.  
Ed watched until Oswald had lowered himself down into a sitting position before taking a seat beside him.  
The park was quiet save for the quacking of the ducks as they paddled here and there on the pond and the occasional bark from a dog being walked in the distance.  
Ed watched out of the corner of his eye as Oswald gripped his knee tightly. It looked as if he was almost trying to keep it in place. His expression was deliberately neutral but Ed detected from the focused eyes and hard line to his lips that it was too tense to be genuine.

‘Does it hurt all the time?’ Ed asked.

Oswald didn’t bother denying anything but the enquiry was too much of a blanket question to give a short answer. How could you describe a kaleidoscope to a blind man? The pain changed subtly depending on many things: if it was cold, if he was walking over a rough surface, how well he’d slept, what he was thinking about…

‘Not always’, he lied, ‘It's chilly today’.

‘You ever think about getting it fixed? It's obviously healed badly’.

‘I've thought about it’.

‘But?’

‘It's a useful reminder’, Oswald replied, this time honestly, ‘That pride comes before a fall’. 

‘And you don't like using the cane because you don't want to show weakness’, Ed added. 

Oswald nodded. It was true. Gotham was a jungle and the king couldn’t afford to look weak. Too many hungry eyes waiting to take a bite. Never being able to let your guard down was exhausting. The reality was that running the underworld wasn’t a job: it was your whole life.  
But with someone beside you, to share the load, the crown felt lighter. Having Ed in the same house was so much more therapeutic than their meager assigned visiting hours had been in Arkham. Oswald just hoped Ed was getting as much out of their new partnership as he was.

‘I see your point but you should use one’, Ed said, ‘I don't like the idea of you hurting yourself for the sake of hubris and going without one is doing more damage. Besides, it only has to _look_ like a cane’.

‘What do you mean?’

Ed smiled as his brain began to dedicate itself to the new, intriguing engineering project that had occurred to him.

‘You'll see’, he promised, ‘Ooh do you want an ice cream?’

Oswald followed Ed’s pointing finger and saw the candy striped vendor’s cart on the other side of the pond.

‘In this weather?’ Oswald asked.

‘Not even if I’m buying?’ Ed said in a sing song tone.

‘In that case how can I refuse?’ Oswald laughed, ‘You know I can't remember the last time I had...’ 

Oswald gave a sudden, odd start and Ed’s smile faded as he saw Oswald was shaking. 

‘Oswald?’

Ed saying his name seemed to snap Oswald out of the strange tremor but he still swivelled his head around, as if unsure of where he was.

‘Are you alright?’ Ed asked.

‘Y-yes…yes’, Oswald insisted, then cleared his throat, ‘Just uh...yes, ice cream would be nice’.

‘Wait here’, Ed said, conscious of the pain in Oswald’s knee as well as the obvious aversion reflex he had just exhibited.

He recognised it as more of Strange’s handiwork.  
Ed had seen the ice cream test in action himself while incarcerated.  
He had no idea what it was supposed to prove but it had provided a welcome distraction at dinnertime. Ed had discovered he had a knack for betting on the winner of the resultant bouts.  
Seeing the effect on Oswald made it far less amusing.

‘What’ll ya have?’ the vendor asked.

‘Good question’, Ed mused, examining the flavours on offer and trying to pick one Oswald would like, ‘But I’ll start with a mint choc chip while I try to figure it out’.

Vanilla? No. That was the flavour Arkham always served. Too much chance it would be a sensory trigger.  
Strawberry? No. The one on offer was poor quality judging from the chalk like texture.  
Coffee? No. Oswald disliked coffee.  
Out of chocolate. Shame. 

Ed’s eyes lit up as he saw the next flavour. Perfect.

 

As he walked back to the bench with the ice creams, Ed reflected on the lack of clinking from the change that had been in his pocket prior to their purchase.  
He hadn’t realised when he had been handing it to the vendor but that had been all the money he had left. The coins they had returned to him along with the rest of his effects on the way out of Arkham.  
He couldn’t ignore the twisting sensation of worry in his stomach as he thought about his lack of funds but also knew ironically that there was no point worrying. The money that had been in his pocket wouldn’t have been useful for anything else anyway.  
Oswald had mentioned ‘investment’ earlier and looking at Oswald’s grateful face as he handed him the ice cream, Ed now knew what he meant.

‘Thank you’, Oswald said, licking his lips in anticipation, ‘Cookies and cream. Yummy’.

‘No problem’, Ed said, re-taking his seat, ‘Wanna know why I picked it?’

‘Black and White’, Oswald said immediately, halting his enthusiastic licking for a moment, ‘You got mint choc chip which is green like your suit and you got me black and white like a penguin’.

‘That’s actually a well-reasoned answer’, Ed said, impressed, looking at his ice cream as if he had just noticed the colour.

‘But not the one you’re looking for’, Oswald said, ‘Go on then, tell me why you got me cookies and cream?’

‘Same reason I got myself mint choc chip’, Ed said, ‘Very different components but when combined they are a force to be reckoned with. They go well together’.

Oswald smiled happily as he realised the comparison Ed was making.

‘Is the bedroom I’ve given you in the mansion okay for you?’ Oswald asked.

‘Better than okay’, Ed replied, ‘I haven't slept that well in months but, I promise, I- I won't be squatting for very long okay? Just until I get a job and-‘

‘I thought you’d agreed to help me with my campaign?’ Oswald asked, confused.

‘You meant as an _actual_ job? Like.... _paid_ work?’

‘Of course Ed!' Oswald cried, 'I wasn’t expecting you to do it out of charity! That is if you still want to do it, I mean, only if you don't have plans of your own, don't want you to think I let you out of Arkham just to railroad you somewhere. I didn’t even think about that! You probably have your own plans and if you want to leave then you can-‘

‘No! No!’ Ed hastily interjected, upset at having caused Oswald distress, ‘I would love to work for you! But I don't think I've asked: what exactly is the job?'

Oswald reassured by Ed’s reply, took a satisfying crunch out of his cone. He swallowed and swept a hand impressively around, like a king inviting someone to view his kingdom.

‘A prime opportunity to act as an aide for Gotham’s new up and coming mayoral elect’, he said magnanimously, ‘A job that includes room and board as well as a competitive salary, good networking opportunities and weekends off’.

Ed pretended to consider, chewing a mouthful of cone himself.

‘What's the downside?’ he asked.

‘You have to put up with Butch’, Oswald said, inhaling through gritted teeth.

Ed breathed out slowly.

‘That's a _pretty_ big downside’, he said, sucking his teeth.

‘Trust me I know’, Oswald said, rolling his eyes, ‘But he’s got good connections and he knows how the city works. I’m going to need him to grease the wheels for this election’.

‘Only for you Oswald’, Ed said finally, offering a hand.

‘Glad to have you on board Mr Nygma’, Oswald said graciously, shaking Ed’s hand.

‘Glad to be on board Mr Penguin’, Ed said, wiping his gloves clean of cone shavings, ‘I won’t let you down’.

Oswald smiled at the promise and threw his bunched up napkin at a nearby trashcan. He missed and it bounced along the ground. Oswald tutted in annoyance and made to get up. Ed beat him to the punch, picked it up and deposited it into the bin.  
Ed walked back to the bench and threw his own balled up napkin.  
Unlike Oswald’s it landed perfectly in the trashcan.  
Oswald shook his head fondly as Ed licked his own fingertip and drew a number ‘1’ in the air.

‘You'd better not’, Oswald joked, ‘I know where you live after all’.


	12. A Better Class of Criminal

***This chapter brought to you by a Guest who wanted a ‘jealous Ed’. Enjoy!***

 

Ed threw a dart.  
It embedded itself in the plaster of the wall.  
He tutted to himself, frustrated at his impaired aim.  
He knew what was causing it but that didn’t seem to help dampen his simmering anger.  
This jealousy was ridiculous. It was beneath him!  
But then why did it sting so much when Oswald asked Butch to do something and not him? The trust he had in the lummox was baffling.  
Ed threw another dart.  
He ignored the worried whimper that he heard.  
How was the big oaf supposed to be Oswald’s right hand when he didn't even have two hands of his own?! 

Ed had laughed when Oswald had introduced them. He had been convinced it had been a joke: something to cheer Ed up after his incarceration. He had laughed harder when Butch had told him the story of how he had lost his hand. That hadn’t gone down well with Butch. Ed was convinced Oswald had been about to burst into a fit of giggles though.  
Then Ed had realised Oswald wasn’t joking and his merriment had been replaced with trepidation and annoyance.  
How could Oswald think it was okay to keep someone like that around? Who had already betrayed him once! It had brought back memories of the day Ed had seen Oswald tarred and feathered and that had only made him angrier.

First impressions were one thing but Ed had quickly realised that Butch was not only a dimwit but a liability to Oswald’s budding mayoral campaign.  
Ed threw another dart. This one had too much force behind it. It bounced off the plaster and embedded itself into the wooden floor. It shook for a moment then stood bolt upright.  
Ed massaged his forehead with two fingers.  
That whimpering was starting to grate on him.  
But what really vexed him was that Butch wasn’t even convinced Oswald could win this election.  
It was obvious to a blind man that the public were desperate for a leader: for change. Oswald was filling that void without even realising it! Despite his unusual demeanour, people believed in him and responded to his words. What had begun as him spearheading a witch hunt had turned into a serious political movement. It said a lot that the public were so obviously favouring a hardened known criminal over a tried and tested politician. They were practically the same thing! 

‘Maybe they want an honest crook for a change?’ Ed mused.

A questioning whimper responded to his musing.

‘Shut up!’ he snapped, ‘I’m thinking’.

But Oswald was not making the gains he should have been: the whole thing should have been moving much faster. With Butch in charge, the campaign was driving with its hand brake on. Oswald was still very likely to win but by Ed’s calculations, the current mayor should have been no challenge at this stage of the game.  
Butch was playing it too safe.  
He had called on all his old connections and even brought in a simpering little image consultant called Fabiano. There was more authentic Italian in the leather of Ed’s shoes than in that preening little popinjay! 

Butch and Fabiano had been the ones who suggested that awful fake tan! Ed could've killed him for that alone. Ed had suffered from acne when he was a teen so was always conscious of good skin care but Butch seemed intent on burying Oswald beneath orange clay!   
Ed understood a bit of make up was necessary: you needed some to look presentable on camera or under stage lights. But Oswald had been slathered and glistening like a thanksgiving turkey and it had rubbed off and stained his collar! Ed had learnt a long time ago that not everybody noticed the minuscule things he did but they couldn't take that chance.   
More eyes than usual were on Oswald and many were keen to see him, an upstart, knocked off his perch.

Ed twiddled a dart between the index fingers of either hand thoughtfully.  
Was Butch deliberately setting Oswald up to fail?! He would no doubt try to bribe officials and other people in power to ensure Oswald would win the election: it was Gotham electoral tradition. But what was the guarantee that once Oswald was in office, Butch wouldn’t call on some favours? Oswald had made friends with the public but enemies with other, more dangerous figures.

Speaking of friends…  
Ed gritted his teeth as he felt the dart’s sharp end prick his finger.  
He hated the way Fabiano was always touching Oswald.  
He hated how he fussed around him, straightening out every little crease like a mother hen! The suits he picked were awful too. A leopard print handkerchief: really?! Oswald had only been spared that public humiliation by Ed throwing it in the fire when nobody was looking.  
The ignorant Italian fop had no understanding of personal space! How were people supposed to take Oswald seriously when he had a greasy little lickspittle fawning over him all the time?!  
And the way he looked at him was infuriating: the doe eyed, little-  
He tried to take a deep breath and count to ten.  
One…two…three…

_Whimper._

‘For the last time: don’t interrupt me WHILE I’M THINKING!’ Ed shouted and threw his last dart, droplets of blood from his wounded finger flying with it through the air.

This one hit home as it buried itself slightly below the centre of the sack.  
The man inside the sack made an odd choking noise.  
Ed watched coldly as the man’s leg spasmed. The ropes binding him to the chair wouldn’t allow for any other movement. 

‘ _Jugular_ ’, he diagnosed internally as he watched the man’s subdued death throes, ‘ _Still pulling downwards when I release the dart. Have to fix that_ '.

He savoured every miniscule movement until his captive finally and literally gave up the ghost. He watched the dead man sag in the chair.  
He walked over and pulled the sack off his head.  
Fabiano’s dead eyes stared at the ceiling.  
Ed was tempted to fix the man’s hair: give him some dignity in death. He decided against it when he noticed the amount of goo like product slicked through the black locks. Even the blood from the head wound Ed had inflicted to knock him out hadn’t diluted it.  
He sighed in satisfaction and began to collect the darts he had been throwing steadily closer to Fabiano’s bound body over the last hour. He had hoped to drag it out a little longer: he had been preparing a speech outlining every little thing Fabiano had done to bring himself to this ignominious end. Oh well, you couldn’t have everything. The man rubbed Ed the wrong way, unconscious or not. Dead however, Ed suddenly found him utterly agreeable.

He placed the darts back in their wooden box and closed the lid with a click.  
One annoyance down.  
The mansion had spacious grounds. Nobody would notice another uneven mound beneath the fallen leaves. The fop’s resignation letter in fluent English not Italian (the Italian phrases Fabiano had often thrown into conversation had usually been incorrect and mispronounced) and matching his parlance had already been typed and sent to the mansion. Tomorrow Ed would stumble upon the sealed envelope in the hallway and bring it to Oswald. He would then offer his services to help the campaign instead which, due to a lack of other options and the hectic schedule Oswald was keeping, Butch couldn't very well turn down.   
And why should he? Oswald had said he had wanted Ed to play a part in his campaign on the limo ride to the mansion and Ed couldn’t help it if he was industrious and self-motivated. He couldn't wait for Oswald to see the filing system he had already prepared for his appointments! 

Butch couldn’t be removed from the board. Not yet.   
His hulking build was necessary as a background prop to ensure people remembered Oswald was also The Penguin, no matter how many promotional buttons he handed out or babies he kissed. Ed made a mental note to remind Oswald to stop doing that, no matter how much the press pushed him to. Children were absolutely infested with germs and he wasn’t convinced Oswald’s slight frame could endure that much exposure.  
Butch had to stay but that didn’t mean Ed was going to make it easy for him. He was happy for him to play a part in the campaign: as a chauffeur or muscle. He just lacked the cranial capacity to run it effectively. Ed supposed he should pity him but it seemed more enticing to tease him. Nothing brought a rush like taunting a chained attack dog. It would be an intriguing experiment to see how Butch would react to Ed’s manipulation and subtlety.   
Butch couldn’t touch him and he couldn’t touch Butch but Ed was not about to watch Butch get his dirty fingerprints all over Oswald’s hopes.  
Oswald had been through enough. Ed still didn’t know everything but he caught the quiet introspective stares Oswald would sometimes make or the forced smile he would give when something reminded him of a memory that hurt him.  
But when he had seen Ed, he had been beaming.

‘Hello old friend’, he had said cheerily.

Ed was willing to do anything to keep seeing that smile.  
Ed smiled quietly to himself as he began to ascend the stairs back to the warmth of the mansion proper. His first stop was the kitchen to disinfect the darts of dirt and incriminating fingerprints. Then he’d grab some trash bags, a bonesaw, some industrial strength bleach and get to work taking out the trash.  
One way or another, in terms of right hand men, Oswald was about to trade up.  
Whether Butch liked it or not.  
Ed gleefully hoped he wouldn’t.


	13. A Bird in the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***This chapter comes courtesy of a Guest who requested ‘flirting’ and another who wanted something to help them ‘cheer up’ after the mid season finale. Hope you all enjoy***

‘Your neck feeling better?’  
Ed turned at Oswald’s concerned tone. He wiped his forehead free of sweat generated by the greenshouse’s humid environs. Even though he was still in his pyjamas and house coat from the night before, he could feel his shirt sticking to him.  
He was at a loss to explain how Oswald never felt too warm even when wearing heavy coats or black on a sunny day. 

‘My voice is definitely better’, Ed replied, ‘Your mother’s recipe really helped. Thank you’.

Oswald closed the greenhouse’s heavy doors behind him and came up to join Ed at the table.

‘So, you think you’ll be able to come tomorrow then?’ Oswald asked hopefully.

‘Of course’, Ed smiled, ‘It’s traditional for both the mayor and his chief of staff to attend The Gotham Garden Society’s annual fund raiser’.

‘Hence the flowers?’ Oswald asked, looking at the table in front of them.

The long wooden surface was covered with various blooms that Ed had selected from the vast array of plants the greenhouse held.  
Ed nodded.  
It was traditional for the mayor and all other political figures to wear flowers in their buttonholes for the fund raiser. Apparently it had developed into quite the competition: subtle one upping through the use of exotic species and brightest colours. Mostly it just told reporters who to keep an eye on once the booze started flowing. At least one scandalous headline was made there every year.

'It was actually what happened last night that reminded me about the flower', Ed said, examining a purple iris blossom critically. 

Oswald tried to ignore the rage that bubbled up from his stomach as he remembered.  
His celebration, his triumph at being made mayor ruined by Butch.  
That traitorous, idiotic, doomed-

'Why is that?' he asked lightly.

Ed untied the scarf around his neck.  
Oswald winced at the marks Butch had left on Ed’s neck. The bruises left by his fingers gripping Ed’s neck looked like angry criss-crossing tree branches. Yellow and green hues had begun to emerge around the reddish purple bruises creating an aching kaleidoscope.  
Oswald’s simmering rage was instantly quenched by concern and regret.

'Vivid shade isn't it?’ Ed joked, ‘I know you favour these colours'.

Oswald gave a short laugh but his heart wasn’t in it.

Butch’s betrayal had daunted him but what he had dared to try and do to Ed really made Oswald’s blood boil. Ed had asked Oswald to let him handle it (after all he was the literal wounded party) but Oswald, for the first time since their friendship began, hoped Ed would fail. He did not want to deprive Ed of his vengeance but Oswald thought Butch’s head would compliment Grace’s nicely.  
He and Ed could have a matching set: one each.  
Now there was an idea… 

'I, well’, Oswald said, mentally kicking himself for his stuttering, ‘I was actually thinking that may-maybe we could-'

'Match?' Ed offered.

He gestured to the table with one outstretched hand. Oswald saw there were two of each kind of flower Ed had been examining, lined up in neat rows.

'I agree’, Ed continued, ‘Provided I can pick one that suits us both'.

'Great minds huh?' Oswald asked, relief and gratitude flooding through his body.

How did Ed always know how to make him feel better?

'Exactly', Ed smiled, 'Speaking of which: tea?'

Oswald nodded and smiled as Ed handed him a cup from a nearby tray. Steam issued from the spout of a brown teapot as Ed poured Oswald a cup before pouring his own.  
Ed had been expecting him.  
Oswald noticed ash like fragments in the tea as he took a long, careful draught of the piping hot liquid. 

'I didn't think we had any herbal tea left', he commented, trying to identify the familiar taste.

'Found this one lurking at the back of the cupboard’, Ed shrugged as he took a drink of his own tea, ‘Foxglove tea sounded too intriguing to ignore'.

Oswald forced himself to swallow the mouthful he had just taken in.

'Oh' he said simply.

He recognised the taste now and he also knew that ‘Foxglove’ didn't mean the plant.  
Foxglove referred to a certain nightclub Oswald sometimes visited and this tea could only be purchased there. Oswald bought the tea because it helped to... _'relax'_ you when it was consumed.  
It was very effective.  
The woman who had sold it to him had advised it was better when it was 'shared'.  
Oswald had never indulged in that; only used it to help him unwind and stave off his racing paranoid brain by forcing it to focus on pleasure alone.  
Ed, apparently heedless of Oswald's hammering heart, blew on his tea and took another drink.  
Oswald felt as if he were paralysed.  
He should tell Ed. Warn him of the effects he was soon going to feel!  
How it might...make him act.  
He nearly jumped when Ed spoke.

'Interesting flavour. Like cinnamon'.

Ed looked at Oswald expectantly and Oswald knew he had no choice but to keep drinking.  
Anything but confess his 'indulgences' to Ed!  
Judging from their physical builds, he was pretty sure who was going feel the effects first.  
Simultaneously praying to God he wouldn't say anything stupid and yet perversely intrigued by the impending scenario, Oswald took another, more measured, sip.  
He placed it back on its saucer, already feeling a warmth spreading through his body.  
He had forgotten how fast acting it was.

'Did you know that plants can be used to produce a wide variety of effects?'

'Such-such as?' Oswald asked, playing dumb.

He knew Ed wasn't really asking. It was a rhetorical question so he could share information. A springboard to an observation.  
And hopefully a distraction from what they had just ingested.

'Healing properties, hallucinogenic effects, _loss of inhibition..._ '

He trailed off and gave Oswald a long slow stare over the brim of his cup.  
Oswald realised Ed already knew there was something in the tea.  
He knew that packet hadn't been lemon tea.  
Wait…did that mean Ed knew what the Foxglove was?!  
The realization made Oswald's heart flutter in his chest but not half as much as seeing Ed down the rest of the cup in one swallow.  
Ed sighed appreciatively and licked his lips.  
Oswald couldn't help but notice how pink they were, flushed and glistening from contact with the tea.  
His knees became so weak his wounded leg nearly went out from under him.  
It was official.  
He was in love.  
What had started as a friendship born of necessity had gradually evolved (at least on Oswald’s part) into a full blooded infatuation.  
He hadn’t been able to get that hug from the night before out of his head. The incredible, almost physical pull he had felt towards Ed when he had promised he would always be there had been impossible to resist. He had probably held the hug for longer than he should have but it had been so intoxicating.  
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry with delight.

'Shall-shall we pick a flower then?' Oswald asked, trying to distract himself.

'I did come in here for another reason', Ed said and pointed to a mortar and pestle nearby, ‘If you don’t mind?’

Oswald saw a viscous liquid inside the ceramic pot.  
Oh good lord.  
Oswald knew what he thought it was-what he hoped it was but-

'Mushed aloe vera', Ed explained, 'For my throat. My shirt collars are irritating the bruises'.

'Do you drink it or-' Oswald began, feeling foolish and wrong footed due to his incorrect assumption.

‘ _Control yourself!_ ’ he snapped at himself internally, biting the inside of his cheek to hopefully help keep his libido under control.

'You rub it on', Ed said, 'Would you mind helping me?'

Oswald didn't ask why. He was too lost in Ed's half lidded chocolate brown eyes.  
He all but grabbed the pot.

'You might want to finish your tea', Ed said, 'It'll get cold otherwise'.

Oswald saw Ed was parting his robe. It was all it took for Oswald to obediently down the rest of the cup.  
Screw it.  
In for a penny.  
Ed leant down to allow Oswald better reach.

'Kneel down'.

Ed looked at Oswald, taken aback by the command in his voice.  
Oswald returned his questioning look with quiet command.

'I can't reach you like that', he shrugged.

Ed felt like resisting (the dwindling voice of logic in his brain dictated that Oswald should have no problem reaching him if he lowered his neck) but found he couldn't. He was too enchanted by the cold fire in Oswald's glass like eyes.  
Had they always shone like that?  
He knelt slowly, resting both knees on the floor.  
Ed had known as soon as he had read the word 'foxglove' that the tea's effects would be dubious but effective.  
That was why he had deliberately used a smaller portion than recommended on the label and added extra water to dilute the mix. He had known the name on the label had nothing to do with the foxglove plant: that was too toxic to even consider making tea out of.  
That just left the Foxglove Club: Ed had recognised the silver stencilled logo on the label from Gordon’s case files.  
Still, dubious though the effects and the establishment may be, Ed felt pretty damn good.  
He knew Oswald had a hedonistic streak; his love of fine foods, clothes and wine was testament to that. But he hadn't considered that he could be a connoisseur of experiences too.  
Surprise was a valuable commodity to Edward Nygma; he rarely experienced it.  
Save when around Oswald.  
He was intrigued by the impending experiment. He had never indulged in this kind of behaviour. The sensation of not knowing what was going to happen was thrilling and it had seemed like an interesting way to spend an afternoon.  
Provided you had the right company.  
Somebody you could trust to share the experience.

Ed looked up at Oswald, craning his neck upwards to allow him better access to the bruises and partly to savour that look of barely restrained hunger on his face.  
Ed loved that look.  
The cold blooded killer Oswald hid beneath his veneer of civility was deceptively close to the surface, ready to strike at a moments notice. Seeing self conscious, wounded, awkward Oswald war for supremacy against the savage confidence of The Penguin in the same face was fascinating to watch.  
Unknown to Ed, his position also gave Oswald a very pleasant view of the muscles of his chest straining against his tight pyjama top.  
Oswald noticed Ed's glasses had steamed up but somehow tore his gaze away to focus on the task at hand.  
Ed initially tensed beneath Oswald's fingers but then sighed in contentment as Oswald began to gently rub the mix into his tender skin.  
Oswald's fingers were cool over his bare flesh, his thin fingers moving in a firm yet soothing rhythm.  
It was so soothing that Ed closed his eyes to better appreciate the sensation.

Once Ed closed his eyes, Oswald was finally able to hungrily examine every inch of Ed's face.  
He was moaning quietly as his eyelids flickered.  
Oswald licked his lips as Ed's mouth parted slightly.  
How many times had he thought about Ed in this position?  
His fantasies had also involved lotion. Just used in a different place.

'Harder’ Ed said, 'Please'.

Oswald looked at Ed and saw the corners of his mouth were turned upwards ever so slightly. His eyes were still closed.  
Was Ed doing this on purpose?! Had he engineered this whole scenario in a bid to drive Oswald mad?!  
Oswald smiled wickedly.  
He hoped so!  
He did as Ed asked, rubbing harder and increasing his pace slightly.  
Ed flinched but growled ferally in appreciation.  
Oswald didn’t care if Ed wasn’t doing it on purpose, it took all of his inner discipline not to throw him down and have him right then and there.  
That noise drove him wild!  
All he wanted was to mark Ed as his.  
He wanted to leave his own beautiful bruises on that pale skin. To see such a controlled, calm person unleash their desire and cry out in ecstasy at his touch.  
Or…would he prefer it the other way around perhaps?  
Ed throwing him against a wall, holding his arms above his head, biting and sucking at his flesh-  
Oswald swallowed hard.

‘ _Stop torturing yourself!_ ’ he chided internally.

Oswald reached into the pot with a shaking hand to get more aloe vera paste but saw there was none left.  
Ed, conscious that the rubbing had stopped, came to the same conclusion and opened his eyes.  
He stood up and Oswald suddenly found himself looking up again rather than down.  
He was used to looking up to people (physically at least) but it was strange to see someone look down at you with such warmth.  
Oswald averted his eyes, scared Ed's hypnotic gaze would force him to confess every darkest dream he had ever had (and had just had) involving the other man.  
But moving his eyes downward did not help.  
Was that a bulge beneath Ed's dressing gown?!  
Or just bunched up material?!  
He reached out and folded Ed's dressing gown back over his chest, eyes fixed determinedly ahead.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't realise Ed was reaching out until he felt his fingers in his hair.  
His first instinct was usually to freeze at unexpected physical contact.  
But the tea made him bold.  
He subtly raised himself onto the tips of his toes, ignoring the pain of his treacherous knee, allowing Ed's palm to rest on top of his hair.  
He felt shivers down his spine as Ed ran his fingers through it.  
Dismay filling him as Ed removed his hand, he noticed a leaf in Ed's fingers.  
He had taken it from Oswald's hair.  
It must have fallen from one of the hanging baskets above them.

'Social grooming is a very important part of animal behaviour', Ed said quietly, 'Helps them grow closer'.

He smiled enticingly and let the leaf fall to the floor.  
It fell, gliding back and forth like a pendulum before finally settling silently on the floor.  
Oswald moved towards Ed, the leaf crinkling beneath his heel.

'How _close?_ ' Oswald asked.

Ed playfully took a step back, raising an eyebrow tauntingly.

'I remember _you_ once told _me_ I was standing too close', he smirked.

Oswald took another pointed step forward.  
Ed leant back but stumbled. The table behind him stopped his fall but he gave a pained gasp as he placed his hands on the table behind him.  
Recognising pain when he heard it, Oswald regained some grip on himself.

'Are you alright?!'

'Yeah, yeah it's nothing' Ed said, his own semi-delirium broken by the jabbing pain he had just experienced.

He waved a hand to allay Oswald's worry but all that did was enable Oswald to see that Ed's hand was bleeding.  
Ed tried to tuck it inside one of the pockets of his house coat but Oswald grabbed his hand.  
Ed was about to protest that it was nothing but then felt Oswald's grip soften. The smaller man gently pried Ed's fingers open to examine the wound. His eyes flicked to the table.  
When he had stumbled, Ed had unwittingly placed his hand down on a large thorny rose stalk.

‘Roses have their thorns', Ed said, looking ruefully at the blood pooling in his palm.

Oswald was looking intensely at the cut, examining it carefully.  
He gently placed a fingertip on it and Ed gave a shudder.  
The dual sensation of the biting pain of the cut and Oswald’s feather light fingertip was heightened by the drug. Oswald’s finger swirled around the cut and Ed felt the circular motion drawing him in.

Then Oswald let go.  
Ed’s head snapped up and he saw Oswald had taken a knife out of his jacket pocket. Before Ed could stop him, Oswald sliced his own palm open.  
Ed's eyes widened, both at what Oswald had done and at the knife.  
He recognised it as the very same one he had offered to Oswald to use on Leonard all those months ago.

‘You kept that?' he asked.

Oswald tentatively reached up, his fingertips brushing the glistening bruises on Ed’s neck. Ed leant down, into Oswald’s hand, like a wild animal accepting food from a kind human.

'You've already bled for me once', Oswald said.

He took Ed's hand again, his own blood staining Ed's skin.

‘I would do the same for you', he concluded.

Ed's cheeks burned at Oswald's penetrating, earnest stare as well as the unexpected strength of his grip. No doubt most onlookers would have found the gesture an over the top reaction to a minor wound.  
But Ed knew his feelings very often did not fall in line with what others considered normal.  
He was truly touched.

‘I think this makes us blood brothers', Ed commented, hating how he couldn't think of anything else to say.

The word ‘brothers’ was not what Oswald wanted to hear but Ed's breathless demeanour and reddened cheeks were reward enough for his gesture.  
He was beautiful like this.  
He looked how Oswald felt; under a spell.

Without letting go, Oswald reached into another pocket and took out a silk handkerchief. He wrapped it around the knife before placing it in Ed's damaged palm. Taking care not to aggravate Ed’s wound or his, he closed Ed’s fingers around the knife's hilt.  
Ed watched Oswald's blood mix with his on the smooth silken surface of the handkerchief, the pale material being dyed a vibrant red.  
It was like a flower blooming.

‘Keep it’, Oswald said, ‘So you remember’.

Maybe it was the gravitas in Oswald's voice but Ed began to feel his overwhelming powers of logic and reason beginning to awaken. Their cuts required treatment.  
Besides, regardless of any chivalrous intentions, it was hard for him to see Oswald bleed.  
Either way, the spell was waning.

'I’ll go find us some bandaids and bactine', Ed said quietly.

He saw Oswald's eyes flicker as if he were struggling to wake up and detected the barely hidden disappointment in his face.

‘Ok. I guess I’ll look around here until you come back?' Oswald offered nonchalantly.

Ed smiled.  
'You already helped me choose', he said, 'That is, if you agree with my choice?'

‘Which one is it?' Oswald asked, eyes flicking between each pair of flowers Ed had set out.

Ed gestured towards two vibrant flowers sitting slightly apart from the others. 

'Srelitzia reginae', Ed identified.

'What does that mean?' Oswald asked.

Ed pointed to a nearby patch which held more of the blooms. There was a name tag poking out of the dirt in front of them.

'You wanna know? Just bend over and take a look'.

Trying desperately to ignore the delicious images Ed's commanding tone had conjured, Oswald gave a defiant tilt of the head.

'Why not just tell me?'

'Because if I tell you...' Ed said mischievously.

He leant down, closer to Oswald.  
Oswald felt Ed's lips graze his ear and couldn't help but give a whimper.  
Ed hesitated for a second, obviously conscious of the noise Oswald had just made. Just as he was worried he had made a terrible mistake, Oswald felt the teeth of Ed's smile as he whispered into his ear.

'You won't learn anything'.

Then Ed was gone.  
Oswald felt the slight breeze of his movement as a cold gale. It only seemed to stoke the furnace within him to a more intense flame. As Ed had advised, he knelt down, careful to keep his weight on his good knee.  
He brushed a leaf away from the display label.  
His breath hitched in his throat.

'Bird of paradise', he whispered aloud.

Oswald absent-mindedly began to lick the blood from his hand but as he moved to his fingers, he began to suck them hard and moaned around them. His other hand travelled down and cupped his crotch as he tried to stifle the nigh uncontrollable arousal.  
He would save that to enjoy later and at length.  
If this was all he could have with Ed, if this was the only way he could have Ed, he was well contented.  
For now...

 

Closing the greenhouse door behind him, Ed placed the bloody knife in his pocket then took a long sniff of the handkerchief.  
It smelt of iron and cinnamon.  
He felt as if he were on fire, his heartbeat loud in his ears and his mouth dry.  
He giggled to himself as he realised he had a fluttering sensation in his stomach.  
Like butterflies. Which were attracted to flowers. Why was that so funny?  
Why did he feel so giddy?! So happy?  
He hadn’t felt like this since Miss Kringle…  
‘It's just the drug’, his brain struggled to tell him, numbed by the cocktail he had ingested, ‘Just ride it out. It'll be over soon’.  
Ed glanced over his shoulder and sighed pleasurably.  
‘Hopefully not too soon’, he whispered.


	14. Hot and Cold

Oswald lowered himself into the hot tub and sighed with pleasure as he felt the churning waters begin to soothe his wounded knee. It particularly pained him during these cold Winter months and he couldn’t afford for it to go out from under him during a public engagement. It was difficult enough being conscious of Gotham’s icy streets without worrying about a treacherous old wound choosing to bite him at the wrong moment. He was stronger than he had ever been and he intended to make sure others knew it.  
He lowered his cupped hands into the warm water and splashed it into his face, gasping as it burnt his cheeks. His eyes had been watery that morning and he kept feeling like a headache was coming on. Hopefully the water would wash away the unpleasant aching he was feeling throughout his body.  
He always had the tub turned to its highest setting, finding it relaxing to watch the steam rise to the ceiling. If he relaxed his eyes, he fancied he could see shapes dancing and entwining in the mist.  
He watched a coiling trail rise and imagined it formed into a question mark for a split second before it made contact with the high ceiling and dispersed.  
His thoughts travelled downwards, both metaphorically and literally.  
Another good thing about the hot tub...  
He breathed slowly as he took his member in his hand and began to gently stroke it to hardness.  
It made everything so much more sensitive!  
He indulged his craving, stroking harder as he moaned at the images filling his head. They had been there since the night before (as evidenced by the state of his sheets that morning) and he had been desperate to enjoy them while fully conscious.  
All of them involved Ed. Naked. With him. In numerous positions.  
Moving his thumb in a spiralling motion, he used his other hand to tweak one of his nipples, gasping at the heat that seemed to enveloping his body, mind and soul.  
He wanted Ed. He wanted Ed to touch him like this.  
To want him so badly he couldn’t stand it!  
So badly he would throw Oswald up against a wall and tear his shirt away just to expose his flesh for a greedy kiss and-

‘Oh-oh-oh god!’ Oswald gasped, throwing his head back as he licked his lips hungrily.

Imagine if instead of his own hand, Ed’s lips were down there, his clever tongue dancing as he sucked _and sucked and-_

Oswald gripped the side of the hot tub as he pumped furiously, all sense of teasing and pace forgotten in his erotic delirium.

He might make Oswald beg. Lean over him with those dark eyes burning bright and that teasing smile and-

‘Please’, Oswald whispered desperately, ‘Please _don’t stop! Please don’t-ah!_ ’

He came, back arching at the sensation as impossibly cold shivers ran up and down his sweat soaked spine.

‘Oswald?’

Ed’s voice from outside the room made Oswald’s blood run cold.  
He hastily let go of his softening member as if to hide the evidence of what he had just been indulging in. 

‘Ye-yes?’ he called, then after clearing his throat, ‘What is it Ed?’

‘Just to remind you, we’re expected at city hall in an hour’, Ed’s voice replied, ‘You need to think about getting ready’.

‘Okay!’ Oswald called, ‘I’ll get out now’.

‘Careful, I know it’s good for your knee but if you spend too long in there, you’ll catch a cold’, Ed reprimanded gently.

‘Noted’, Oswald called and listened carefully for the retreating footsteps that signalled Ed was leaving.   
If he hadn’t been so distracted he would’ve heard Ed coming too!  
Luckily Ed hadn’t seemed to have heard anything.  
Even if he had there was no way he would know who Oswald was fantasizing about would he?  
Oswald looked at himself in a nearby mirror and tried to bury the worry in his face.  
Would he?  
Once he was totally certain his chief of staff was gone, Oswald sank beneath the bubbling waters, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

 

Ed knew Oswald was sick before he did.  
He watched as throughout the meeting, Oswald kept subtly shaking his head as if to dispel cobwebs, sank steadily lower into his chair and wiped his brow with one of the handkerchiefs he always carried despite the chill in the room.  
City hall’s heating system was on the fritz. Despite the numerous city officials clustered around the meeting table, the room they had been assigned was so frigid, Ed could track the mist of each attendee’s breath as they spoke.  
After what seemed like an age, the meeting concluded, the necessary hands were shaken and expected pleasantries were exchanged.  
Oswald remained seated longer than the other officials and did not rise until they had all filed out. He got up hesitantly, arms stiff and straight as he used them to raise himself out of his seat. Ed could see he was trying to hide his discomfort.

‘I’ll get the chauffeur to bring the car around’, he said, holding up Oswald’s coat so he could slip his arms in.  
He had removed it about halfway through the meeting despite the freezing environs and Ed could clearly see sweat beading on his forehead.

‘No’ Oswald said, ‘We’ll go out together’.

‘Oswald, you’re not-‘

‘Ed. I’m fine’.

Oswald’s quiet tone and steady stare brooked no further argument.  
Ed nodded and held the door open.  
Oswald walked ahead of him, back straight and eyes fixed ahead. He was moving faster than usual and Ed realised he wanted to get to the car as quickly as possible. He was tempted to take his arm but decided against it. Oswald would no doubt appreciate the gesture but he and Ed were both keenly aware that others could interpret it as a sign of weakness.  
Luckily city hall was quiet and they made it out of the building without meeting anyone.  
It was only when he was safely installed in the car that Oswald finally allowed himself to succumb to his worsening symptoms. Ed sat across from Oswald and watched as he closed his eyes and slumped down in his chair, breathing hoarsely.

 

‘Ah-ah- _achoo!_ ’

Ed passed Oswald another tissue from the box. Oswald took it and wiped his reddened nose, groaning.

‘One of these days I'll get tired of saying I told you so’, Ed commented.

‘But it's not today right?’ Oswald said grumpily before suffering another sneezing fit. 

He threw the used tissue away into a wastebasket that Ed had placed strategically beside the bed. As soon as they had arrived back at the mansion, Ed had practically frog marched Oswald upstairs. It had taken him threatening to undress Oswald and tie him to the bed before Oswald had meekly surrendered control of his fate albeit with occasional rebellious glares and disappointed looks that Ed was taking advantage of his weakened state to order him around.  
Oswald huddled back down into his blanket and pulled the covers over his head.  
Ed smiled at the childlike action.  
Oswald always slept like that. Wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon.   
An instinctive desire to protect himself when at his most vulnerable.

‘Make sure you keep your forehead uncovered’, Ed ordered, reaching into a basin beside him.  
He took the washcloth he had left soaking out of the cold water filling the basin and wrung it out.   
Oswald obligingly raised his head out of his makeshift nest and allowed Ed to place the moist towel on his forehead. He sighed in gratitude and closed his eyes at the soothing coolness of the flannel on his fevered brow.

‘You don’t have to stay’, Oswald croaked, ‘I’ll be fine’.

Ed hid a smile at the hope he could see in Oswald’s eyes. Despite his tough exterior, Oswald liked people fussing over him. Ed supposed it reminded him of his mother. 

‘I’ll be the judge of that’, Ed said with faux sternness. 

‘I’m the mayor, not you’, Oswald protested.

‘If you had read the civic guidelines (like I did)’, Ed countered with a smug smile, ‘when the mayor is not in a position to make decisions, his chief of staff is expected to make them for him. And I’m telling you to get some sleep’.

Oswald gave a laugh that degenerated into a cough.  
The flannel fell from its perch on his forehead. Oswald reached for it weakly but Ed picked it up first.

‘Telling or ordering?’ Oswald asked.

‘Does it matter?’ Ed replied, placing the flannel back into the basin.

Ed waited for a sarcastic answer but realised quickly that the only response he was getting were soft snores. Oswald appeared to have spontaneously fallen asleep. Good.

‘I guess it doesn’t’, Ed whispered, opening a bumper crossword book he had brought up with him and starting from page one.

He had just moved on to page fifty-three twenty minutes later when Oswald suddenly jerked awake with a pained cry. Ed barely stopped him attempting to leap out of bed and winced at the strength of Oswald’s grip on his arms. His eyes were wild and his hair slick with sweat as he gasped.

‘Oswald!’ Ed said firmly but loudly.

This seemed to snap Oswald out of the shock of his sudden awakening as his eyes lost their unfocused look and he lowered his head sheepishly. His grip softened and he extricated his fingers from Ed’s arms. He lay back and tilted his head back onto his damp pillow, breathing deliberately slowly and deeply.

‘Nightmares are a common side effect of fever’, Ed said, ‘Are you alright?’

‘I always have nightmares’, Oswald said, running a hand wearily over his face.

‘Do you want to talk about them?’ Ed asked, ‘Talking about bad dreams can have a sanative effect on those that experience them’.

Oswald gave a humourless but soft laugh so as not to aggravate his throat.

‘Do you have a few days to spare?’ he asked, ‘Don’t worry Ed. I know they’re just dreams’.

‘Have you considered a pharmaceutical solution?’ 

‘No pills. No doctors. _Definitely no psychiatrists_ ’, Oswald growled, ‘I’m allergic’.

Ed suppressed a compulsive twitch. Arkham and Strange’s tyranny apparently was still a raw wound for both of them.

‘Pretty sure we both are’, Ed agreed, ‘At least you remember your dreams’.

‘You don’t?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway’, Ed smiled, tapping the side of his head, ‘Too busy’.

It occurred to Oswald he had never seen Ed sleep. When he had been staying in Ed’s apartment Ed was always awake when he was, usually working away on paperwork or playing video games. Oswald had fancied Ed was like a computer: on standby when he wasn’t needed and activating only when Oswald awoke.

‘If that’s the case, maybe we should sit together for company?’ Oswald offered, ‘Since it sounds like we’re both awake anyway’.

‘Tell ghost stories and braid each other’s hair?’ Ed joked.

They both laughed. Ed patted Oswald’s back companionably when he once again ended up coughing. He waved a hand to signal Ed to stop and said: ‘Were-were you sitting here the whole time I was sleeping?’

Ed nodded and then stood as if something had just occurred to him.  
He leant over and felt Oswald’s forehead with his palm.  
He thought Oswald might pull away and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t.

‘Thank you’, Ed said, satisfied with Oswald’s temperature. His fever was breaking.

‘For what?’ Oswald asked, puzzled and disappointed that Ed had removed his hand.

‘Cooperating this time’, Ed smiled, ‘You probably don’t remember how hard it was to get close to you after I found you hurt in the woods’.

Oswald shook his head and winced at the pain the movement caused in his temples.

‘You would jerk awake anytime I crossed the room’, Ed said, reminiscing, ‘Then swear at me and fight every time I tried to get you to eat something or change your bandages. It’s why I had to start sedating you’.

‘Look at us now huh?’ Oswald asked.

Ed sat beside him on his bed and began to reach for Oswald’s chest.  
Oswald’s eyes widened and he instinctively lifted a hand before consciously halting it.  
Ed noticed.

‘For old time’s sake?’ Ed asked and continued to reach for Oswald’s chest.

He easily opened the buttons of Oswald’s pyjama shirt and lowered it off one shoulder.  
Oswald prayed Ed wouldn’t detect his racing heartbeat. If he did, he supposed he could always play it off as a side effect of his sickness.

Ed, oblivious to Oswald’s racing thoughts and heart soon found what he was looking for.  
The scar from the bullet wound stood out as a dark smudge like mark on Oswald’s pale, clammy skin. As Oswald stirred slightly, Ed saw its smooth texture shine as it caught the light.

‘It’s healed well’, he appraised feeling a rush of pride for his handiwork.

He touched it lightly out of curiosity and Oswald gasped suddenly.  
Ed hastily withdrew his fingers.  
Had he missed some shrapnel in the wound maybe?!

‘Does it still hurt?’ he asked, face full of concern.

‘No’, Oswald said, eyes averted, ‘It’s, it’s just…sensitive. That’s all’.

Ed nodded, grateful he hadn’t caused Oswald any pain and he folded Oswald’s shirt closed again.  
Oswald tried to pull the blanket back over himself.  
Ed moved to help and their hands touched briefly.  
Oswald’s heart fluttered as he felt the warmth of Ed’s hand.  
Ed smiled as he noted that Oswald’s hands were back to their usual cool temperature.  
Oswald lay back carefully and moved onto his side in an attempt to ease his breathing.

‘I’ll go make us some soup’, Ed said, standing again, ‘I’ll be back soon’.

He couldn’t explain the compulsive need he felt to reassure Oswald he would return. He was just going to the kitchen after all and it wasn’t as if Olga would let him do any cooking anyway. But looking down and seeing his friend so vulnerable, he was glad he had.  
He looked so small curled up in that large four poster bed that Ed couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the weakened Oswald and a wounded bird.   
As he descended the stairs, Ed reflected that Oswald had more in common with a bird than he had first thought.   
Being handled or touched was likely very stressful for vulnerable birds.   
To trust must be equally alien.  
Why trust when you instinctively flew on your own?  
Trust was a liability; just another chance you might get hurt.  
But despite everything, all the horrors he had endured and the nightmares that plagued him, Oswald trusted Ed.  
The least Ed could do was be worthy of it.  
What was the old adage?

'Birds of a feather flock together', Ed quoted, smiling.


	15. Happy Returns

Despite his distracted mood, Ed couldn’t help but smile.  
Oswald was like a little kid: eagerly asking questions as the architect outlined his plans for the new visitor centre. He had told Ed during the ride over about how he and his mother had often frequented the zoo when he was growing up.  
When he had brought Oswald the letter the day before inviting the new mayor to attend the after-hours fundraiser for the new developments designed for Gotham Zoo, Ed had been surprised to see Oswald light up. It was the most excited he had ever seen Oswald, at least in regards to the various functions the mayor had to attend.  
For Oswald’s sake, Ed had tried to be happy.  
Despite the date.  
While Oswald shook the architect’s hand, Ed helped himself to a third glass of champagne and downed it in one long swig. He winked at the waiter who was eyeing him with distaste as he returned the empty glass to the waiting tray.

‘Ed? A word please?’ 

Ed, seeing Oswald had extricated himself from the burgeoning crowd of well wishers, went to obey his employer’s summons.  
As he got close, Oswald gestured towards a side door with a nod of the head. He led the way out of the reception and Ed closed the door behind them.  
He followed Oswald into the dark zoo, their path illuminated by the decorative lampposts lining the walkways. It was long after visiting hours and most of the animals were locked away in their houses. Those that weren’t were dozing or relaxing in their habitats.

‘Where are we going?’ Ed asked as he saw Oswald consult a map on a free standing sign.

‘Doesn’t take a genius to see you’re not in a party mood’, Oswald said, finger tracking a chosen path ‘Thought we’d take a break’.

‘Is it allowed?’ Ed asked.

‘So what if it isn’t?’ Oswald asked teasingly, ‘Come on. As far as illegal goes, this is child’s play for us’.

Ed couldn’t argue with that. And he really didn’t want to keep playing nice and wearing a fake smile.  
He followed Oswald around a corner and heard him give a small noise of acknowledgement.  
They had reached their destination.  
Ed frowned a little at the sign mounted above the stone archway.  
‘Arctic World’ it read in words designed to look like icicles.  
It had always bothered him.  
Penguins weren’t native to the Arctic. Perhaps ‘Antarctic’ was too hard to spell? Or wouldn’t fit on the sign?  
Oswald led the way into the penguin exhibit.  
As they passed through the show arena, Ed noticed a plaque on the wall listing names of people who were current sponsors of the exhibit.  
He was surprised to see Oswald’s name topping the list as an overall sponsor of the exhibit rather than any single animals.  
As he ran an eye idly over the rest of the plaque, another name caught his eye and he tapped it with an attentive finger.

‘Peter Humboldt’, he read out.

‘It’s an obvious alias’, Oswald said, overhearing Ed’s words, ‘But I’m fond of it’.

‘I didn’t know you were a sponsor’, Ed commented.

They went through another archway to the actual penguin enclosure.  
Ed came to join Oswald at the rail. Through the glass beyond, numerous mixed species of penguins milled about.

‘I started when I was working for Maroni’, Oswald said, ‘He told me to ‘own’ being The Penguin. I decided to take it literally’.

‘Your real name’s on there too’.

‘Well, now I’m mayor, I sponsor the whole exhibit. Why else did you think this place was unlocked? I told them I wanted to inspect it. Penguins are surprisingly high maintenance’.

‘You don’t say?’ Ed joked.

Oswald shrugged off handedly.

‘I wish you’d told me’, Ed said, ‘I could have worked it into your speech tonight’.

‘I’m allowed to keep some secrets’, Oswald said, ‘Like you. Something’s been bothering you all day’.

Ed sighed. No point hiding it any longer. He knew Oswald had suspected something despite his best efforts to hide it. He supposed friends just knew.

‘What is the only song that has everyone’s name in it?’ Ed asked.

He ignored the sudden turn of Oswald’s head and the small gasp that escaped him. He knew the answer.

‘Happy Birthday’, Oswald answered quietly, ‘It’s your birthday’.

Ed nodded subtly. He could tell Oswald didn’t know what to say. If he was honest, he didn’t know what to say either. So he did what he did best: made a knowledgeable observation.

‘They share parental duties’, he said, indicating a pair of emperor penguins, ‘Take turns with the chicks’.

Oswald feigned interest for a moment as they watched the proud parents waddle around with their chick but he couldn’t maintain the pretence for long.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked.

‘Because I don’t see the point in celebrating an event I had no say in’, Ed said simply, ‘Do you know what that one’s doing?’

Oswald cast a glance at another pair of penguins. One was rolling a oval stone towards the other. As they watched, the other penguin picked it up in its beak and toddled off with it, the first following close behind.

‘Some people think it’s a mating ritual’, Oswald said, his tone betraying his impatience, ‘But the stone (and the other hundred they’ll collect) are for nest building. It’s not some kind of penguin engagement present’.

Ed looked at Oswald with surprised appreciation. Oswald looked up at him.

‘Glad to see you did your homework’, Ed commented.

‘Well, one of the reasons I wanted to become a sponsor here was I used to come here with my mother on my birthday’, Oswald said, ‘Did you used to do anything on your birthday with-‘

‘I don’t have a mother’, Ed interrupted.

Oswald’s mouth closed at Ed’s snappy tone.  
He felt embarrassed and wrong footed. He had just realised he had never asked Ed about his family and here he was making assumptions!  
Ed sighed and shrugged self-consciously to dispel the tension.

‘Don’t worry about it’, Ed said reassuringly, ‘You can’t miss what you never had’.

Oswald was confused by the vague nature of Ed’s reply. Ed exulted in detail and analysis. To hear him say something so non descript was unsettling. Was his mother dead? Did she leave? Was he simply closer to his father? Did he have a father?  
Did not having anyone to spend his birthday with really not bother Ed?  
But...that wasn’t true.  
There was someone.

‘ _You_ may not want to celebrate’, Oswald said carefully, ‘But what if I want to?’

Ed raised an eyebrow but Oswald sensed the silent invitation to continue. 

‘My mother and I…we didn’t have much’, Oswald said, feeling his cheeks starting to redden as Ed watched him, ‘But somehow we always made our birthdays special for each other. I-I have plenty of money now and well, I-‘

‘But I don’t _need anything_ ’, Ed protested.

‘Needing isn’t the same as wanting’, Oswald insisted, ‘ _Anything_ you want Ed. Name it and it’s yours’.

Ed felt flattered and uncomfortable all at once.  
Why was Oswald so obsessed with this?  
With making him happy on his birthday?  
If Ed had done a better job of hiding it, this would have been a day like any other. They wouldn’t be having this conversation!

‘That’s very kind. I mean it’, he said with a smile, ‘But I’m fine. Really’.

Ed headed down a nearby flight of stairs to the underwater viewing area. Oswald followed and joined him at the glass that looked out into the depths of the pool built into the penguin exhibit. As they stood, penguins glided past, flippers moving lazily as they propelled themselves through the water.

‘How about a pet penguin?’ Oswald offered, ‘I’m paying for their upkeep after all’.

Ed burst out laughing as the comical image of a penguin on a leash and collar popped into his head. 

‘Some would say I already have one’, he said, wiping his eyes beneath his glasses.

Oswald smiled and Ed, to his astonishment, felt a lump forming in his throat.  
It felt as if the pressure that he had been enduring all day was finally being released.  
He had ignored the date for years. He was unused to someone else caring about it.  
It was…touching to see someone care so much about you.  
Ed had never felt like this.  
So… _loved_.

‘You’ve done enough for me Oswald’, he said, swallowing the lump down, ‘If it wasn't for you, I’d be the one being gawked at through bars’.

Oswald reached up and placed a hand on Ed’s shoulder.  
Ed could sense him searching for something to say.  
He waited patiently until Oswald spoke.

‘We’re both out in the wild now. We should stick together’.

‘Like penguins’, Ed suggested, heart racing as he felt his feelings bubbling up despite all his strategies to keep them in check.

‘Like…a family’, Oswald corrected gently.

Oswald felt Ed’s shoulder shake slightly and pretended he didn’t notice. He also ignored the soft intake of rattling breath Ed took and the subsequent rhythmic breathing as Ed tried to get himself back under control.  
The two watched the penguins swim a little longer in a silence that was gentle and comfortable.  
Oswald tapped the glass lightly and a curious penguin halted and swam in place for a moment, attracted by the movement.  
Oswald placed his whole palm on the glass.  
His eyes widened as he saw Ed do the same.  
Their hands weren’t quite touching but the desire for intimacy on Ed’s part was obvious. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it outright. It wasn’t in his nature to be obvious or straightforward.  
Oswald loved that about him.  
But he knew that, right now, Ed didn’t love that about himself.

‘Thank you Oswald’, Ed said, voice strangely tight.

‘They are fascinating to watch aren't they?’ Oswald observed, tactfully continuing to ignore the tumultuous emotions that Ed was trying so desperately to contain.  
When he was ready to talk, Oswald would be there for him. However long it took. 

‘Yes’, Ed agreed softly, eyes fixed on his friend, not the birds behind the glass beside him, ‘Yes they are’.


	16. The Thought That Counts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***For a friend who wanted something 'short and sweet' for a prompt***

‘NERVOUS MUCH?’

‘What makes you say that?’ Ed asked, making a concerted effort to stop tapping the end of his pencil against his desk.

He saw his doppleganger do the same thing, reflected as he was, in the glass of an empty photo frame on Ed’s desk.

‘BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN STARING OUT THE WINDOW FOR THE LAST FIFTEEN MINUTES AND NOT LOOKING AT THESE FILES’, it said smugly.

‘Why should I be nervous?’ Ed asked, aggravated by his double’s unannounced materialization, ‘It’s just a token of appreciation. For how much he’s helped us. Didn’t even cost five dollars’.

‘BUT YOU HAD IT SPECIALLY MADE’. 

‘The bakery didn’t do green ones and-’

‘AND YOU WANT HIM TO KNOW IT’S FROM YOU’, the doppleganger groaned before smirking, ‘AND YOU’RE THINKING IT SEEMED LIKE A GREAT IDEA AT FIRST BUT NOW…’

He trailed off and Ed pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes wearily. He felt the butterflies in his stomach start up again.

‘What if he reads too much into it?’ he fretted, ‘What if he realises how we-‘

He cleared his throat and replaced his glasses before correcting himself.

‘-How _I_ feel?’

‘RELAX. YOU NEVER TOLD HIM ABOUT GIVING THE SAME THING TO KRISTEN. OR THE MEANING BEHIND IT. HE’LL PROBABLY JUST EAT IT AND THINK NOTHING OF IT. NOW, TELL ME ED, DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER OR WORSE?’

Worse.  
The thought surfaced before Ed could stop it. He briefly wondered what access the doppleganger had to his thoughts before deciding there was no use worrying about it. No reason to indulge an imaginary figment by expecting it to conform to conventions or rules.  
If Oswald thought of it as nothing more than a spur of the moment present that was okay. Wasn’t it? On the surface that was all it was meant to be. All it seemed to be.  
Ed knew it was more than that.  
That was why he was nervous.  
What if Oswald figured out Ed’s real intentions behind it? What if it affected their friendship?  
But then, what if Oswald was okay with it? What if, he actually did feel something for Ed and the present was the push he needed to tell him?!

‘Makes me feel totally neutral actually’, Ed lied to himself, ‘The point was to do something nice for Oswald’.

‘AND MAYBE GET AN INSIGHT INTO HOW HE MAY OR MAY NOT FEEL ABOUT YOU. YOU’RE HOPING HE’LL FIGURE IT OUT. GIVE US THE ANSWER KRISTEN NEVER DID. DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT’.

‘Like what?’

‘LIKE THAT THOUGHT NEVER CROSSED YOUR MIND’.

Ed rolled his eyes. His doppleganger did too but then his eyes narrowed as a thought popped into Ed’s head.

‘THEN AGAIN’, he mused, ‘I GUESS MUCH OF THAT WOULD DEPEND ON WHETHER HE FOUND WHAT WAS HIDDEN INSIDE THE CUPCAKE BEFORE EATING IT. WOULDN’T IT?’

‘He wouldn’t just eat it’, Ed scoffed at his reflection, trying to finish reading the document he had been trying to finish for the last half hour.

‘IF HE KNEW IT WAS FROM YOU HE WOULD AND WE KNOW HOW HE EATS’, the doppleganger clicked its tongue, ‘NOT MUCH CHEWING INVOLVED IS THERE?’

Ed stopped dead and his doppleganger watched with amusement as he saw Ed calculate the odds of such a thing happening.

‘Oh crud’, Ed muttered as the equation worked out into an answer he didn’t like.

‘MY SENTIMENTS EXACTLY’, the doppleganger deadpanned as Ed ran from the office to find Oswald.

 

He didn’t have to look long.  
Oswald was sitting in front of the main fireplace, one arm resting on the arm of the couch. He seemed deep in thought, watching the flames dancing as he played with a piece of ribbon between his fingers. He rubbed it against his face and smiled at the silken texture.  
Ed saw with dismay that the cardboard box he had left for Oswald on the coffee table was open and empty.  
Oswald looked up as he heard Ed approach and gave an odd little start before breaking into a convivial smile.

‘Ed’, he said, ‘I got your gift’.

He showed him the label dangling from the piece of ribbon. Ed nodded to show he could see it and acknowledged Oswald’s obvious gratitude but was more interested in the more pressing issue.

‘Did you-did you eat the whole thing?’ Ed asked.

‘Don’t worry, I found your little hidden surprise when I cut it in half’.

Oswald showed Ed what he had in one hand. A bullet gleamed in the firelight.  
Ed couldn’t help a heavy sigh. 

‘This was supposed to be in the cake for some reason I assume?’ Oswald asked, his light tone a complete contrast to the oppressive worry Ed had just suffered through.

Ed’s relief was so palpable, he had no idea how to go about explaining his reasoning. So he just gave a basic (albeit non-descript explanation).

‘It’s a riddle’.

‘You didn’t need to get me a present to say ‘thank you’’, Oswald said, turning the bullet round to examine it, ‘That being said, it was a good choice. I do have a lot of use for both cupcakes and bullets’.

‘You didn’t think it might be poisoned? Or sent by one of your enemies?’ Ed asked, as he took a seat beside Oswald.

‘Gangsters don’t do ballistic themed cupcakes Ed’, Oswald said sardonically, ‘Even in Gotham. Plus the icing was bright green and this bullet has a question mark sticker on it. But, uh, it’s not poisoned is it? Because if it is, you need to tell me. Like, right now’.

‘No! No. It’s not poisonous. It’s um, it’s a riddle’.

‘What is? Oh! You mean the cupcake means something and I have to figure it out! Right! Duh! Sorry. Okay. Let’s see’.

Ed watched as Oswald looked hard at the bullet as if it might have a secret compartment or code on it that would relinquish the answer to Ed’s puzzle.

‘The cupcake is sweet and looked innocent’, Oswald said, obviously thinking aloud, ‘But there was actually a bullet inside. Bullets are dangerous and penetrating …’

The use of the word ‘penetrating’ made Ed swallow and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw Oswald suddenly clap his hands triumphantly.

‘I get it!’ Oswald cried.

‘You-you do?’

‘Of course! It’s so obvious!’

Oswald pointed at Ed. Ed nearly turned around instinctively before his brain informed him there was nothing behind him worth pointing at.

‘The answer’s ‘you’!’ Oswald laughed, ‘Edward Nygma!’

His brain also told Ed that not knowing what to say was becoming a bad habit and provided him with a nice safe response to use.

‘Can you elaborate?’ Ed asked.

‘Innocent on the outside but dangerous on the inside’, Oswald said excitedly, ‘The bullet’s your brain, ready to be unleashed against anybody that tries to ‘take a bite out of you’! Metaphorically speaking of course! On a more mundane note, the colour of the icing and the question mark kinda gave it away’.

Ed absorbed the information and despite Oswald’s careful reasoning, somehow the answer didn’t seem to make sense to him.  
Oswald’s answer was… _him_.  
The only answer that made sense to Oswald was _him_.  
Ed’s dumbness was instantly replaced by giddiness at the thought.

‘Correct!’ he beamed, flashing two thumbs up.

‘Really?’ Oswald asked.

‘Yes!’ Ed smiled, ‘Though I have to admit it wasn’t the answer I was expecting’.

‘What was the answer you were expecting?’

Ed looked at Oswald’s curious face and realised he didn’t know.  
What had he been expecting? Due to the context, the original answer to the riddle, ‘a woman’s love is a dangerous thing’, no longer made sense.  
He had reused the idea he had originally designed for Miss Kringle to compare the reactions.  
What had he been worried about? Oswald wasn’t Miss Kringle. Why would he react like she had with disgust or confusion?  
Deep down he knew this hadn’t just been a gift. It had been a test. A test to see if Oswald truly understood him.  
But Ed had honestly never envisioned himself as the answer.  
He had modified the answer to be ‘physical attraction can be misleading’, hopefully hinting to Oswald that Ed, despite not being conventionally attractive may be the one he was destined to be with.  
But Oswald, ever the non-conformist, had surprised him again.  
He may not have thrown himself into Ed’s arms but he had chosen Ed as the only possible, logical solution to a riddle that was based on ‘love’ as an answer.  
Which meant Oswald had not only passed Ed’s subliminal test.  
He’d passed with flying colours and entirely on his own.

There was hope!

‘I like yours better’, Ed replied, smiling to himself.

Oswald shrugged, dropping the question.

‘Well, if you always say ‘thank you’ like that, I could get used to it’, he said, ‘The little bit of icing I tasted was delicious’.

‘Wait a minute. Why did you cut it in half by the way?’ Ed asked.

‘I haven’t eaten it yet’, Oswald said, ‘It was a pretty big cupcake’.

‘Then, where-?’ Ed began to ask but stopped when he saw Olga enter.

She placed the tray she was carrying down on the coffee table in front of the couch and nodded, signifying her task had been completed.  
Ed saw the cupcake separated into two neat halves sitting on two separate saucers beside a large pot of tea and two cups.

‘Food tastes better when it’s shared’, Oswald smiled, and offered Ed one half of the cupcake.

Ed took it, pretending to look at the cupcake.

‘Ideas are better that way too’, Ed replied, as he watched Oswald out of the corner of his eye


	17. Until Death

‘You brought flowers too?’ Oswald asked.

‘It seemed wrong to come empty handed’, Ed replied, looking at the offering in his hands, ‘and, since you were bringing lilies, I’d thought I’d bring something else’.

‘So many colours’, Oswald remarked with admiration.

‘The red ones symbolise love’, Ed explained, pointing at the respective roses in turn, ‘the white peace, the yellow healing and the pink are happy memories. They’re also thornless: for your parents falling in love at first sight’.

‘And-and the black one?’

Ed smiled down at it. 

‘That’s you’, he said, ‘Surrounded by all these feelings. Never alone'.

Ed held out the bouquet. Oswald took it gingerly.  
He was grateful for his gloves. Hopefully they would disguise the fact his hands were shaking.

‘It’s beautiful Ed’, Oswald said, trying his best to give a subtle sniff.

He knelt down carefully and laid it beside the bouquet of lilies he had already placed on the grave. As he straightened, he read the words with a mix of pride and sorrow. His father’s name had now been added to his mother’s gravestone as well as two small oval portraits of the two of them side by side. The gravestone hadn’t been completed when he had arranged for Elijah to be reburied next to Gertrude but now, there it was.  
Proof that Oswald Cobblepot had once had two loving parents. 

‘I’m glad you like it’, Ed said.

‘I love it. So-so do they of course! It is for _them_ after all’.

He and Ed stood at the grave in respectful silence. The graveyard was quiet and still, the bare trees moving slowly with the keen wind. Despite the ominous silence that always infected graveyards, Oswald found the atmosphere a pleasant relief after the hectic, bustling school they had visited that morning. Ed had also used Oswald’s weekly appointment at his parents’ grave as the perfect excuse they had needed to avoid Oswald having to read to the children.

‘Take as long as you need here’, Ed said after a few moments, gently tapping Oswald’s shoulder, ‘I set aside time for it in your schedule’.

Oswald nodded gratefully and Ed turned on his heel and began to make his way back down the hill towards the parked limo.  
Once he was sure Ed was out of earshot, Oswald turned his attention to the gravestone. Despite the ache in his chest, he smiled at the splash of colour Ed’s bouquet provided to contrast to the cold, pale marble.

‘Ed’s the one I was telling you about on my last visit’, Oswald said, ‘Though I’m sure, Mother, you and he are well acquainted by now. I still haven’t told him how I feel. I will though! Tonight actually, at dinner. Eight o’clock sharp. I’ve got Olga cooking everything he likes. Having too much will be better than having too little! I’m going to play his favourite songs. A bit of candlelight. A roaring fireplace. Just us. I’ve got it all set up. No going back. No more chickening out’.

He shivered slightly as a cold breeze tickled his neck and readjusted his scarf around his neck.

‘I guess, I came here to get your blessing’, he continued, ‘Before I tell him. That’s what you’re supposed to do I think? You probably already know since you’re-‘

He pointed a finger directly upwards.

‘ _Up there_ and all but I also wanted to tell you that, well, Ed makes me happy. _So happy_. I mean, happy in a way I never thought I could be. It’s wonderful but so…terrifying’.

He cast a glance over his shoulder but of course, Ed was nowhere to be seen. He smiled conspiratorially. 

‘I know Ed thinks love is a weakness. But he’s wrong. First time for everything right? That’s not all love is. It can make you stronger than you’ve ever been’.

It took Oswald only a second to recall the riddle Ed had given him the night of the election.

‘ _It can’t be bought but it can be stolen with a glance. It’s worthless to one but priceless to two_. That’s the key isn’t it? Two’.

He sighed heavily, the memory of Elijah telling him about the separation he and Oswald’s mother had suffered surfacing in his mind as a cautionary tale.

‘I hope Ed’s what you would have wanted for me. He’s _all_ I want. He’s _so_ intelligent! And funny and loyal and believes in me and…I’m sorry! I’m babbling again’.

He checked himself. He didn’t want to keep Ed waiting in the limo too long. If Oswald carried on like this describing everything he found attractive about him, they’d be stuck there all afternoon!

‘When I look at him, I know love’s not a weakness. It’s a form of madness because…Because I’m _crazy_ about him!’

Oswald gave a shaky laugh, conscious that that part had come out louder than he had intended and amused by the light-heartedness of his confession. Even alone, it was a thrill to admit how he felt!  
As his laughter faded, he felt his heart pounding, the usual nerves jolting through his system as he thought about confessing to Ed later. He tried to mentally funnel the adrenaline into some kind of reservoir that he could hopefully tap into later. So he could be brave when it mattered, with Ed sitting across from him, expectantly awaiting the private issue Oswald had to discuss with him.

‘Anyway, sorry to go on and on like that but I had to get it all out somehow. Ed deserves to know how I feel but I know I have to keep it brief. If I don’t we’ll starve before I finish telling him!’

His face grew serious as he kissed the tips of his gloved fingers and touched the top of the gravestone reverently.

‘And I _will_ tell him’, he promised, ‘Nothing will stop that now’.

His vow completed, he turned and walked into the wind as he left the grave behind.


	18. Do You Believe in Fate?

Oswald wrapped his coat tighter around him and shivered despite the relatively warm night air.  
The nightmare had seemed so vivid in the darkness of his bedroom but now, sitting outside in the light of the full moon, the panic that had seized him seemed ridiculous.   
He hadn't bothered getting changed out of his clothes from the Founder's Dinner before he had fallen asleep and tried in vain to smooth out the wrinkles from sleeping in them.

In his nightmare, he had been in a ghastly circus sideshow, being gawked at by a crowd of jeering faces which had included Jim Gordon and Barbara Keane amongst others. He had tried to shake the bars of his cage only to find that instead of fingers, his hands were mutated flippers that could do nothing but paw uselessly at the metal. Hugo Strange had been the barker, mockingly inviting people to throw ‘The Penguin’ some fish. Then, the worst part of the nightmare. Ed with that woman on his arm. She laughed at Oswald as she threw him a bloody fish head. Ed didn’t look at Oswald once: just kept staring at that woman with a goofy grin on his face. Oswald had turned his back on the crowd to hide his tears, only to be confronted by a freakish two headed figure: his mother and Fish Mooney’s heads mounted on one pair of shoulders. They had shaken their heads sadly, in mutual disappointment as they had mourned how they had a ‘freak for a son’.

 _‘He can’t even sing or fly!’_ they had lamented in unison, _‘What kind of bird can’t sing or fly?!’_

Oswald rubbed his eyes.  
He knew those shrimp canapes at the Founder’s Dinner had tasted odd.  
He leant his head back and took a deep breath.   
The gentle breeze felt good on his face as it dried the clammy sweat on his brow.

He made himself feel better by imagining what he would do to that miscreant Jervis Tetch when he got his hands on him.  
He liked the idea of flaying him and using the resultant leather to make hats.  
But how to get him?  
Oswald was an elected official now: it was important to maintain the appearance of respectability he had carefully built up.   
And he had already called in a favour with Arkham administration to release Ed.  
Who was upstairs right now.  
With _her._

Oswald felt his stomach twist but knew it was nothing to do with questionable seafood.  
He also knew Jervis party crashing the dinner wasn't the real reason he felt so angry. 

What did Ed see in that woman anyway?!  
What could she possibly offer him?! Was it because she was clinically insane?! What other kind of person would have still come on a date when they’d been told their new beau was a ex-Arkham inmate?  
Unless, this woman had a history of her own? Perhaps Oswald could make use of his connections somehow to find out more about her. People did not just walk up to people in public places and spout riddles at them to be friendly!  
But…Ed had.  
Ed had approached Oswald completely without fear and asked him a riddle. And now Oswald was in love with him.  
It was funny how things turned out.  
Oswald smiled bitterly.  
No. It wasn't funny. Not at all.

‘You alright?’

Oswald jumped as he recognised the concerned voice behind him.   
How could someone as tall as Ed be so stealthy?!

‘I’m fine’, Oswald said, ‘Couldn’t sleep that’s all’.

Ed took a seat beside him on the gazebo steps. Oswald noticed he was wearing the robe he had given him over his shirt and suit trousers.

‘Too excited from dinner?’ Ed asked with a smile, ‘Did you meet any interesting people?’

Oswald pretended to be very interested in a daisy at his feet.

‘It was quite boring actually and I don’t think the food agreed with me’, he said in a disinterested voice.

‘That’s disappointing’, Ed said, ‘Sorry I couldn’t be there to help with the boredom’.

‘I take it your evening was more exciting?’ Oswald asked in a tone of forced lightness.  
He raised an eyebrow suggestively in the direction of Ed’s darkened bedroom window.

‘Oh! Oh no, we didn’t-well, get that far’, Ed laughed, adjusting his glasses self-consciously, ‘She dozed off while we were listening to some Vivaldi. It’s her favourite. I didn’t have the heart to wake her and I’m not ready to turn in yet. I saw you through the window on my way back from the bathroom and decided to come out here’.

Oswald just about managed to twist his relieved smile into a conciliatory one.  
At least that was something. If Ed had said anything about physical intimacy, Oswald wasn’t sure he could’ve held himself together.  
Provided of course, he wasn’t lying to preserve the woman’s modesty?

‘What did you cook for the two of you?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘We just ended up eating some leftovers I found in the kitchen. Was Olga trying out some new recipes or something? There was enough in there to feed an army! You don’t think they’ll be missed do you?’

And just like that, the anger threatened to overwhelm Oswald once more.   
So Ed hadn’t come to the Founder’s Dinner with him because he had to pick up ingredients for that night’s dinner he had planned and now he was saying he hadn’t even cooked anything?!   
He knew he couldn’t be mad at Ed: you couldn’t be mad at someone for pushing your buttons without even knowing. Those leftovers had been a physical representation of Oswald’s heartbreak: left to grow cold and rot while Ed enjoyed his new romance. It sickened him that the woman may have gotten some abstract enjoyment out of his pain.

‘Doesn’t matter now does it?’ he said simply.

‘I guess not’, Ed said then sighed blissfully, ‘It’s a lovely night isn’t it?’

Oswald swallowed down the automatic sarcastic retort of _‘If I hadn’t been nearly murdered maybe I would be in the mood to enjoy it’._  
He knew Ed would find out about what happened at the dinner sooner or later. He knew he should tell him what happened.   
To not tell him was spiteful and deliberately deceitful but Oswald fooled himself that withholding the information from Ed made him feel better.  
He wanted to spend time with that woman? Fine! But Oswald was not going to fill in the blanks for him about what he may have missed! Ed was _his_ secretary, not the other way around!  
He looked at Ed out of the corner of his eye.

He hated how happy Ed looked as he looked up at the night sky. Ed never smiled that way about Oswald.   
Oswald sniffed as that empty feeling in his chest began to swell and clog his throat.   
He hated feeling this way.   
He wanted Ed to be happy…but why did he have to be happy with that woman?!  
If only he had just come out and told Ed how he felt!  
But it was too late now wasn’t it?  
Ed would never know.

‘By the way, what did you want to talk about? At dinner last night?’

Oswald’s eyes widened. This was his chance. The moonlight, the quiet, just the two of them.  
He had to tell Ed.  
He turned, ready to blurt out his true feelings but saw Ed wasn’t even looking at him.   
His eyes were on his bedroom window.  
Oswald glared at the back of Ed’s head, thankful he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in his eyes.

‘I forget’, Oswald shrugged as he turned away again, ‘Probably something to do with work’.

 _‘You're still a coward’_ , he sneered to himself internally, _‘That's why he’s not sleeping with you tonight’._

Ed gave a sudden exclamation and pointed up.  
Oswald followed Ed’s fingertip just in time to see a shooting star pass overhead before it winked out.

‘Let’s share it’, Ed said.

‘Share what?’

‘The wish of course’, Ed said obviously.

‘Weird thing for a scientist to say’.

‘Scientists exhaust every available resource to achieve their ends’, Ed said, closing his eyes in preparation for his wish, ‘Sometimes that includes indulging in superstition’.

‘What are you going to wish for?’

‘Can’t tell you that’, Ed said, ‘It won’t come true. Hurry up and make your own!’

Perplexed by Ed’s desire for urgency, Oswald closed his eyes.  
There was only one thing he wanted.  
It was sitting right next to him.  
But with that woman around, Oswald’s wish would never come true.  
At least…if he left it up to fate.

 _‘Please let Oswald find someone who will make him happy’_ , Ed wished silently.

 _‘Please let Ed see how I really feel’_ , Oswald mouthed silently before thinking venomously, _‘Because if you don’t, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands sooner or later’._

In the weeks to come, both Ed and Oswald would end up getting exactly what they wished for.   
And the opposite of what they wanted.


	19. The Morning After

Ed halted just before the breakfast room doors and took deep breaths.  
The anger was white hot in his veins, pulsing like a drumbeat against his brain.  
As he tried to calm himself, he realised he could hear Oswald’s voice from inside.

‘-doesn’t matter’, Oswald was saying, ‘I can't tell him how I feel now can I?’

Ed burst into the room, throwing the double doors open wide.  
Oswald’s eyes widened at Ed’s sudden appearance and there was a clatter as Olga nearly dropped the teacup and saucer she had been handing him.  
Ed was used to that look: they had been talking about him behind his back.

‘Oh yes you can’, Ed snarled and stalked towards the table.

Oswald leant back in his chair, alarmed at Ed’s aggression. 

‘Leave’, Ed snapped at Olga.

If there was to be an altercation, he wanted privacy.

Olga looked at Oswald who just continued to stare worriedly at Ed.

‘Don't look at him!’ Ed said angrily, ‘ _I'm_ telling you to leave’.

Oswald signalled for Olga to leave with a shaky hand.  
Olga obeyed. She muttered something unintelligible at Ed as she passed but he ignored her. He didn’t need to speak her language to understand her feelings.

‘You-you he-heard what I was saying?’ Oswald asked, ‘Just now?’

Ed answered by slamming something down on the table in front of Oswald.  
He was intrigued to see Oswald’s almost fearful expression melt away into almost boredom save for a resentful hardness in his eyes. He hadn’t expected that.  
He watched Oswald push the newspaper out of his way dismissively.  
On the cover, the city’s latest ‘big thing’ glowered from the back of a secure truck bound for Arkham. Jervis Tetch was his name. He had been apprehended the night before while trying to murder Gotham’s most powerful players at the Founder’s Dinner.  
Oswald had been a guest at that dinner.

‘Let me guess’, Oswald said airily, ‘What's black and white and red all over?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Ed asked.

‘About what?’

Ed lost his patience with Oswald playing dumb. He slammed a fist down on the table, causing the various glasses and dishes to rattle against the surface.

‘This! Last night!’

‘When I came in you had your hands pretty full’, Oswald said coolly, examining a jar of marmalade, appearing to consider whether to apply it or butter to his toast.

‘That's not funny’, Ed said, equally coolly.

Oswald’s grip tightened on his knife.

‘ _It wasn't a joke_ ’, thought Oswald bitterly, ‘ _How long would it have taken you to notice if I had died? Could you have pried yourself away from your whore?!_ ’

‘It was a high society function in Gotham Ed’, he said aloud, ‘My own fault for not going in armed’.

‘You could've been killed!’ Ed shouted, ‘What were you thinking hiding it from me?!’

Oswald began to butter his toast, the knife sliding harshly over the textured surface. He wouldn’t look at Ed.

‘I apologise for not telling you’, he said, ‘I was tired and _may_ have been in shock. With having a gun pointed at my head and poisoned wine on the table’.

‘Poisoned wine?!’ Ed said incredulously.

Oswald swallowed a mouthful of toast and took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice.

‘Did the news not mention that? The choice on the menu was either a bullet to the brain or slow death by poison’.

He looked up, as if reminiscing. 

‘I _was_ tempted by the wine’, he continued, ‘But ultimately I told the Mad Hatter I thought the bullet would be easier to swallow’.

‘The Mad Hatter?’ Ed asked, raising an eyebrow, ‘Is that what they’re calling him?’

‘If you want to make it in this town as a career criminal you need a nickname’, Oswald shrugged, taking another bite of toast.

Ed was getting angrier the longer the conversation went on.  
Why was Oswald acting like nothing had happened?!

‘You thought it was smart to talk back to a madman?!’ Ed barked.

‘Takes one to know one right?’ Oswald responded, not rising to Ed’s anger, ‘Anyway, relax, the GCPD burst in and put a stop to it. Wouldn't have been my first choice for entertainment but their timing was impeccable. For once. Pass the orange juice please?’

Ed was tempted to hurl the jug against the wall.  
It might have gotten him a reaction other than disinterest from Oswald.  
He couldn’t be alright with what had happened! He had been threatened: made to feel powerless and alone at the mercy of a maniacal milliner! The Penguin Ed knew would never have tolerated it.

‘So that’s it?’ he asked in a more measured tone as he handed Oswald the jug, ‘You’re really alright?’

Oswald filled his glass and put the jug down.

‘I’m a bit annoyed at how you just spoke to Olga but that's between you and her. Me?’

It took Oswald a lot of effort to look up at Ed’s searching face. It took even more to smile as if nothing was wrong.

‘I’m fit as a fiddle’, Oswald stated.

But his efforts were for naught.

‘No you're not’, Ed said.

He felt the faintest stirring of satisfaction when he saw Oswald’s eyes flash for the briefest of moments. 

‘There you are’, Ed thought, ‘You’re trying to hide from me’.

‘Oh? You get a medical doctorate while I was out socialising?’ Oswald said sarcastically.

Ed swallowed down the reply that he already had one.

‘I should've been there with you last night’, he said, self reproach leaking from every syllable.

That only made Oswald angrier.

‘I don't need a babysitter Ed’, Oswald grumbled, taking another round of toast.

Ed saw Oswald’s knuckles were white as they gripped the plate.

‘No’, he agreed tactfully, ‘But you _do_ need a chief of staff. I know I've let you down. Isabella has turned my head around. Distracted me’.

‘You’re not suggesting breaking up with her?’ Oswald asked, a strange quiver in his voice.

Ed regretted his words. He hadn’t meant to guilt trip Oswald about maybe affecting his relationship. He was just trying to apologise! This was about how Oswald felt, not him.

‘No of course not!’ Ed protested and was gratified to hear a sigh of relief from Oswald.

Oswald gritted his teeth and with concentrated effort, turned his grimace into a smile and the pained gasp that had escaped him into a yawn.

‘Where is sleeping beauty anyway?’ he asked, bile rising in him at the mere insinuation of her sharing Ed’s bed the night before.

Oswald knew she had slept over. The thought of her in bed with Ed sickened him so much he wasn’t sure he could eat the second round of toast he was buttering.  
His chest still felt sore from the heaving sobs he had endured the night before. He had deliberately brought them on: trying to purge the heartbreak from his chest like poison from a wound.

‘She had to leave early this morning’, Ed said.

‘Oh?’ Oswald asked with concern even as fierce joy swelled in his chest, ‘That's a shame. Why was that?’

Oswald already knew why.  
Isabella had received a rather rude awakening that morning in the form of a telephone call informing her that her car had been clamped and towed for illegal parking. The details of how the car had ended up parked blocking the entrance to the GCPD garage rather than parked where it usually was outside Isabella's apartment were unimportant to Oswald. He had told Gabe as much the night before when he had handed him Isabella's purloined keys from her handbag.  
It served her right for leaving it downstairs in unfriendly territory.

‘Don't change the subject’, Ed said, waving a hand, ‘I need to remember I have other priorities besides my love life. The major one of which is your wellbeing. I know how concerned you were when I didn't show up for dinner the other night and-‘

‘Forget it’, Oswald interjected.

‘But you grabbed me and-‘

‘I overreacted! Besides It's not as if I cooked it. Olga was more upset than I was’.

‘But your reaction-‘

‘Ed’, Oswald said, voice suddenly low and dangerous, ‘Leave it’.

There was a fraught, uncomfortable silence between them. They both knew that whatever was said next would be the equivalent of detonating a bomb.  
Ed couldn’t take it anymore.

‘I'm sorry Oswald’, he said.

Oswald slammed his knife down with a clatter and glared at Ed. 

‘ _Now_ you're sorry?!’, he yelled, ‘It took me nearly being murdered for you to realise you might've been a bit selfish?! Well I’m sorry I wasted an entire night worried sick about you being dead in a ditch somewhere! I was sitting here like an idiot! One phonecall too much to ask Ed?! I left you a dozen messages!’

‘Oswald-‘ Ed said but was silenced by the orange juice jug flying past him at speed.

It smashed against the wall, the orange liquid staining the expensive wallpaper as it trickled down towards the broken glass littering the floor.  
Oswald was on his feet now, a finger jabbing in Ed’s direction like a cocked gun.

‘Ed if you are about to tell me to lower the volume or calm down, you can save your breath! _You_ asked _me_ if _I'm_ alright: remember?! Well I'm not! You were out there making goo-goo eyes at some woman you just met and meanwhile all I could think about is how many pieces of you they were going to fish out of the river. Then you swan in the next morning like nothing happened?!’

Oswald leant over the table, shoulders shaking as he vented.

‘And then you have the nerve to expect me to be happy for you?! I had just spent an entire hour on the phone with the GCPD trying to file a missing person’s report for my-‘

His voice broke but he recovered quickly.

‘For my best friend! I tried to ignore this and be happy for you but you know what?! I'm feeling a little stressed and a lot hungover this morning and right now I don't want to hear any excuses or apologies! I think I have a right to be mad! Don't you?!’

There was a cavernous silence as the last echoes of Oswald’s tirade faded away. Ed stood still as a marble statue, widened eyes and a slow swallow the only outward sign of reaction to the roasting he had just received.  
Oswald, furious energy expended, sank numbly back into his chair.  
He didn’t look at Ed. Just went back to buttering toast he had no intention of eating.  
He would not cry. He had last night when he had gotten safely upstairs but he would not cry now! He would not cry. He would not-

‘Yes’, Ed said quietly, ‘You have every right to be angry’.

Oswald took an intake of breath, ready to round on Ed once again but as he looked up at his chief of staff, he let it out as a sigh.  
Ed couldn’t meet his eyes. His shoulders were down, his fists were balled at his sides and his mouth was a tight line. Oswald had never seen him so upset.  
Oswald hated how much he loved him.  
It was like barbed wire around his heart.

‘Do you have any idea how I felt?’ Oswald asked wearily, blinking away the moistness creeping into his eyes, ‘How worried I was about you?’

‘I do now’, Ed said, finally looking at Oswald as he pushed the newspaper back towards him.

Oswald tried to meet Ed’s steady, earnest stare but couldn’t. He looked down at the newspaper and glared at Jervis. Hopefully Arkham would be as kind to him as it had been to Oswald.

‘You don't want to hear excuses or apologies’, Ed continued, ‘So here's a promise: it won't happen again’.

Oswald flinched as Ed suddenly made a chopping motion downwards with his arm. A knife buried itself between Jervis’ eyes and stood, impaled into the wood of the table.  
Oswald caught a brief glimpse of Ed’s inner, darker self before it was once more buried beneath his contrite, controlled exterior.  
Ed had done it to shock him: prove the fervour of his loyalty.  
It had also made Oswald a little hard.

‘What happened to not getting attached to people?’ Oswald asked, ‘I think Isabelle's turning you soft’.

‘Isabell _a_ ’, Ed corrected, ‘And not so soft I won't resort to keeping you on a leash if you ever try to hide anything like this from me again’.

Ed folded his arms as Oswald pulled the knife out of the table. He used a napkin to clean the point of sawdust and tried to ignore the pleasant warmth from down below.

‘Now there's an image for the newspapers that'll get people talking’, he commented drily, trying (but not too hard) to banish the picture from his mind.

‘It's my job to keep you safe Oswald’, Ed said seriously, heedless of Oswald’s erotic musings, ‘ _Nothing_ will prevent that’.

Ed picked up the newspaper and, crumpling it, threw it into the blazing fire in the hearth. Ed watched it blacken and curl and Oswald watched the flames dance, reflected in Ed’s glasses.

‘Especially not the bleating opinions of sheep. I promise’.

‘I believe you’, Oswald said truthfully.

‘But can you _forgive_ me?’ Ed asked.

Oswald couldn’t help but smile sheepishly at Ed’s devotion to him.

‘I suppose so’, he said, faking a begrudging tone, ‘You're the only one who knows how that filing system you cooked up works. If I didn't know better I'd think you planned it that way’.

And just like that, Oswald marvelled as he saw Ed change back to his usual wonderful self.  
That little smile with just a hint of self satisfaction, the warmth in his brown eyes, the haughty tilt of his head-

‘Save me some breakfast’, Ed said warmly, ‘I'll see where we're off to first today’.

Oswald cleared his throat, halting Ed’s departure to the office to fetch his schedule.  
He gestured at Ed’s body meaningfully.

‘You might want to put on some pants first’, he said, ‘I don't think Olga was ready for that so early in the morning’.

Ed looked down and Oswald felt giddy to see Ed’s cheeks redden. He had come into the breakfast room wearing nothing but his t-shirt and boxer shorts.

‘Oh…yes-well’, Ed stammered, glancing around as if his clothes had just run off and abandoned him, ‘I just saw the paper and...yeah...I wasn’t-wasn’t thinking-excuse me!’

And with that, Ed was gone, his long legs swiftly carrying him back upstairs to get dressed.  
Oswald watched him go, enjoying the view now the air had cleared.  
He wondered if Ed knew how that t shirt made the muscles of his chest stand out?  
Ed never let other people see him dishevelled. To see the newspaper and immediately come running for Oswald...  
Thankfully Ed seemed to have misunderstood when he had overheard Oswald’s earlier discussion with Olga about his burgeoning romantic feelings.  
Oswald was thankful someone with glasses that thick could be so blind.  
At least, for now.

‘There's still hope’, he said to himself as he rang the bell to summon Olga to clear away the smashed jug.


	20. Pas De Deux

‘That ticket was pricy but now, I’m thinking it was a worthwhile investment’.

Oswald walked towards the voice, tracing the echoes to its source.  
The construction site was abandoned, the bad weather and late time of night guaranteeing the rendezvous complete privacy. The rain had gone off for now, the dark clouds overhead threatening but silent. The area was part of a building extension being created for the theatre he had been sitting in a few minutes ago. He had left Ed inside, saying he had to use the bathroom but knew he only had until the intermission ended to deal with…whatever this was.  
He adjusted his coat against the cold as he walked, ignoring the ache in his knee to maintain a strong appearance.  
He saw the reporter standing, leaning against a pillar, smoking a cigarette.  
As the reporter saw Oswald approach he stomped out the cigarette and offered his hand.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me Mr Mayor’, he said with what he obviously thought was a winning smile.

Oswald threw a crumpled piece of paper onto the ground between them.

‘Usually interview requests go through my office’, he said derisively, ‘Not put on top of a urinal while I’m using it’. 

‘Unorthodox I know’, the reporter said unperturbed, ‘But couldn’t think of how else to talk to you alone’.

‘About what?’

‘I been working on a story for a while now. A reliable source tells me you arranged for Edward Nygma to be released from Arkham. At first I thought it had to be for some plan, like Galavan had for those ‘Maniax’ that all got loose at once a while ago’.

‘And now?’

‘Well, now I know I was overthinking it. I know why you had him released’.

‘And why is that?’

‘I was at your celebration party you know. At ‘The Sirens’. When your guy tried to take you out and Nygma got in the way, got his throat messed up. Not everybody would do that for someone. Hell, not even most friends would do that for each other. Everyone knows you and Nygma are close but after tonight I think I’ve realised just how _close_ ’.

Oswald said nothing. The reporter took it as a cue to continue.

‘I been watching you in there: I’m sitting a few rows back. You’ve been staring at Nygma more than the fancy dancers’, he said with relish, ‘But always when he’s not lookin’. It’s adorable’.

‘Print what you like’, Oswald sniffed, shrugging unconcernedly, ‘You have no proof. Besides, nobody's going to care: this is Gotham’.

‘Yeah the public may not care who's giving it or receiving it up the tailpipe’, the reporter conceded, ‘You'd be a novelty to them: a bit of celebrity gossip for the water cooler. But Mayor, excuse me, now _ex-mayor_ James…’

The reporter let the sentence hang for effect before continuing.

‘He might care. The GCPD? Your 'associates'? Former associates? Hell, there’s a thought, does Nygma even know? Didn't seem to’.

Oswald said nothing.  
He was too busy trying to decide how to kill the reporter, blanking out his nasally voice as he continued his (obviously prepared) speech.  
If those Oswald called his enemies found out, it would be an inconvenience.  
If Ed found out, and found out from a publicly available source…  
Oswald didn’t even want to think about the can of worms that would open! 

‘My point is Mr Mayor that to get to the top you had to step on a lotta people along the way. You may pretend to be law abiding now but there are plenty of people (not reasonable people like you and me) who would (and you know I'm not exaggerating here) kill for juicy gossip like this. Just to know there's a chink in your armour, right above your heart’.

The reporter folded his arms. He looked pleased with himself.  
Perhaps Oswald would start by knocking his teeth out one by one. Hard to smile with empty gums and even less reason to try.

‘So why tell _me_ this?’ Oswald asked, ‘Why not open the floor for bidding?’

‘Professional courtesy. I'm not like whoever sent that skirt to try and pry your secrets outta Nygma by battin’ her eyelashes. I'm an honest man’.

Oswald’s anger was tempered by cold realization.  
That woman had been a thorn in his side since Ed had met her. Could it be that she had been placed there deliberately?!  
Ironically Oswald fervently hoped so.  
It gave him a logical reason to remove her. One that Ed would agree with.

‘Who sent her?’ he asked, feeling numb even as the theory raced around his brain.

‘Haven't a clue but whoever they are they're amateurs’, the reporter shrugged, ‘It's an obvious play. Dress her up like his old girlfriend, tell her what he likes, etc. I remember somebody trying something similar with Falcone: I wrote a story about it months back’.

The reporter shook his head regretfully.  
‘Shame about the ending. Surprised you let Nygma keep the little honey trap around but that's your business. Guy definitely seems to have a type. Sucks for you huh?’

‘What do you want?’ Oswald asked quietly.

‘Okay back to business’, the reporter said, snapping his fingers, ‘I'm here to negotiate’.

‘Negotiate what?’

‘Uhh, me keeping my mouth shut?' the reporter said obviously, 'You wanna protect your boyfriend don’t you? I thought you of all people would know how this works’.

Oswald idly twirled his umbrella between his fingers.

‘I know how it works’, Oswald said in a low voice.

‘I'm still debating how long you'll be paying future installments after we decide on your first deposit tonight’, the reporter said, stroking his chin, ‘Influence can buy more in this town than actual money but you got plenty of both’.

‘I’m curious which you care about more’, Oswald mused, memories of Maroni’s man Frankie coming to the surface of his mind. 

‘That’s my dilemma’, the reporter said, ‘But I'm starting to think: why limit myself to one?’

‘What if I say ‘no’?’

‘Then looks like it's open season on penguins’, the reporter said simply, clapping his hands as a physical full stop.

Oswald smiled. It was funnier when he saw the reporter return it. He was mistaking a shark’s jaw unlocking for a dolphin’s friendly expression.

‘I think I understand you’, Oswald said amiably.

‘You do indeed Mr Mayor’, the reporter agreed, watching hungrily as he saw Oswald take his wallet out of his jacket pocket.  
He was a bit disappointed to see the mayor take a blank cheque from the wallet and produce a pen rather than count out bills. Then again, a blank cheque was the best kind of cheque if you had to take one.

‘Who should I make this out to?’ Oswald asked, unscrewing the fountain pen.

‘Jack Ryder’, the reporter said, unwittingly sealing his fate.

The name rang a bell for Oswald.

‘Gotham Gazette?’ 

‘Formerly. With The Enquirer now but still got a lotta friends around town. You know it?’

‘You ran a lot of Arkham pieces. About me’, Oswald said, his hatred for Ryder so strong he was amazed Ryder didn’t spontaneously combust just from proximity, ‘My father saw those stories. Before he died’.

‘Nothing personal’, Ryder said, trying his hardest to convey genuine remorse, ‘We all gotta make a living. Do things we’re not proud of. Doesn't mean we have to make things difficult for each other’.

‘It's not my first waltz’, Oswald said, ripping out the cheque and handing it to him.

Ryder’s eyes widened as he saw the sum written on the cheque and he couldn’t help a giddy little chuckle.

‘You're a true politician’, he said, ‘Gotta admit, and I mean this as a compliment, I'm kinda disappointed’.

Oswald didn’t reply but offered his hand to shake.  
Jack leant forwards to take his hand.  
Oswald moved his umbrella so the point was directed at Jack’s face and pressed the second button installed on the shaft.  
The umbrella’s hidden spring activated. The point extended like an arrow being loosed from a bow and stabbed Ryder in the eye.  
Ryder gave an odd gasp combined with a guttural moan of pain. His eyelid flickered as it desperately tried to blink, to purge the foreign object in it.  
The umbrella point retreated, some brain matter coming with it as well as the remains of Ryder's eye.  
Oswald lowered the point slightly and pressed the button again. This time, the point stabbed Ryder in the throat.  
Ryder gagged, blood bubbling past his lips, on his feet only because his brain hadn’t realised he was dead yet.

‘ _I'm_ disappointed people keep making the same mistake’, Oswald said coldly, ‘They threaten someone I love and expect to get away with it’.

He yanked the cheque back out of Ryder’s other weakening, shaking hand as the blade from his umbrella retreated back into its sheath. He tucked the cheque safely back into his jacket.  
Ryder began to sway, his last breaths ragged as blood began to pour down his chest. Oswald let go of Ryder’s hand and poked him lightly in the chest. He fell straight back and cracked the back of his skull on the concrete. The noise rang out like a gunshot.  
Once he was satisfied the problem had been suitably dealt with, Oswald took out his phone.  
It was time to start clean up duty. He already knew there were no cameras covering the site. If there had been, he wouldn’t have agreed to meet Ryder there in the first place. That just left the ‘physical’ evidence to be disposed of.  
He took out his handkerchief and wiped the point of his umbrella clean with one corner. The umbrella had been a gift from Ed. He had built it himself using an old schematic that the GCPD had confiscated months ago after a series of murders with a blade hidden inside a silver cylinder. Oswald loved it. Not just as a convenient weapon that could be smuggled into any public place but also because Ed had created something beautiful just for him.  
Such a shame he had been forced to use it on someone so ugly.  
When the point was clean, he took out his phone and selected a number from his contacts list. Overhead, thunder rumbled. This was good: it would wash away even more evidence. The phone only rang once before it was picked up.

‘Hello Gabe’, Oswald said, ‘I have a job for you. Actually…make that two. Do you know where the Gotham Enquirer is based?’

 

Ed took Oswald’s umbrella from him and opened it as they exited the theatre.  
Around them, the other audience members filed out, fighting for cabs, talking about the performance or just hurrying home, heads bowed as if to escape the heavy downpour.  
They walked into the rain together, Oswald keeping close to Ed to keep dry as they both sheltered beneath the umbrella. It was a convenient excuse to maintain proximity: it made sense for the much taller Ed to carry the umbrella.  
As they moved away from the theatre, the street became quieter. There were few people out because of the downpour, the pavement shining gold beneath the streetlights.

‘I know it was short notice’, Oswald asked as they walked, ‘But for once I’m glad we took a beneficiary up on an offer’.

The owner of the theatre had wanted to show his gratitude for Oswald approving an extension to the backstage area. That gratitude had arrived in the form of two tickets to an evening performance of ‘Swan Lake’. Despite the unpleasant conversation he had been subjected to during the intermission, Oswald had enjoyed himself. His mother had been a ballet dancer in her youth but an unfortunate ‘incident’ (she never went into details), had ended her career prematurely. She had often told him the stories that ballet brought to life but Oswald had never had the chance to experience it first hand. The tickets had always been too expensive.

‘It helped that the tickets were free’, Ed joked, ‘And at least we got to see what we’re paying for’.

‘Well, for a ‘research trip’, I found it very enjoyable’, Oswald said, ‘Did-did you like it?’

‘The music yes’, Ed said thoughtfully, ‘Story no’. 

‘Really?’ Oswald asked, ‘Remember Ed, it’s a fairytale. They’re not supposed to make total sense’.

‘But the prince was so dense during that ballroom scene!’ Ed laughed, ‘When Odile comes in pretending to be Odette and he falls for it! I mean, how can you claim to love someone but not really know them?’

Oswald bit his tongue so hard he thought it may snap in two but ignored the anger and replied.

‘Well he paid for his mistake didn’t he? He threw love away for a pretty illusion that meant nothing. I can’t think of anything worse than loving someone so much then realising you’re responsible for their de-‘

Oswald’s jaw clamped shut. He cast a worried glance at Ed, shame twisting in his gut. He hadn’t meant to bring up what had happened with Kristen Kringle, just take advantage of an opportunity to let out some of his jealousy towards Isabella. It was as if his conversation with Jack Ryder had poured salt into the still weeping wound of his heart.

‘You’re right’, Ed said quietly, ‘There’s nothing worse’.

They walked in silence for a time.  
Oswald squirmed beneath his jacket, trying to pretend it was the rain causing the discomfort. Ed continued to stare straight ahead.  
They came to a large dip in the pavement which the rain had filled to resemble a small lake.  
Ed easily stalked over it, his long legs clearing it.  
Oswald dallied at the edge of the puddle, trying to discern the depth so he could figure out how best to cross it.

‘Ed, I didn’t mean-‘

Suddenly his feet were no longer on the ground. Ed had physically lifted Oswald off the ground. He carried him a few short steps and put him back down before he had registered what was going on.

‘What are you-‘ he began to say but halted when he saw that Ed had carried him across the puddle.

‘Don't get precious on me’, Ed smiled, ‘There's nobody around. Don't want you to drown out here’.

Oswald felt a rush of relief. Ed wasn’t holding his mistake against him.  
He also saw the bottom of Ed’s pants were soaked from walking through the water twice. Ed had helped him without thinking. As if on instinct.

‘Penguins swim’, Oswald said with fake indignation.

‘Not in suits like yours they don't’, Ed joked.

They began to walk again.  
Oswald stole a few glances up at Ed. They were so close like this.  
His thoughts began to wander. He envisioned Ed getting back to his room at the mansion, stripping out of his clothes, his body glistening as he would sweep the damp strands of hair out of his gorgeous eyes-

‘Did you know Tchaikovsky was homosexual?’

Just like that, Oswald’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of shock that he swiftly concealed beneath annoyance.

‘I've talked to you about these spontaneous pieces of trivia Ed’, Oswald chided.

Ed looked crestfallen and Oswald realised Ed suspected nothing about his…feelings. He had simply wished to share something he had been thinking about. Like always. Oswald had to get his nerves under control. This was Ed he was talking to.

‘But, no, I did not know that’, Oswald said in a more relaxed tone, ‘I do wonder why you mention it though’.

Ed brightened.

‘Art has a habit of imitating life’, he said, ‘I just wonder if he maybe ever felt like Odette? Like the one he loved was right there, he just couldn't get to them?’

‘Not like you to be so maudlin’, Oswald commented, uneasy at the direction the conversation was taking.  
He had been careful to hide any hint of his feelings for Ed but Ed was a genius. It was only a matter of time before he found out. Was this his way of broaching the topic?! They were alone after all.

‘Well you never knew me when I was in love’, Ed laughed, ‘Sickening I’m sure’.

Oswald turned away so Ed wouldn’t see his grimace, pretending to check the road was clear before they crossed.  
It was like they were having two different conversations! 

‘You really think you're in love?’ Oswald asked through tight lips.

‘I _know_ I'm in love’, Ed replied, halting, a happy smile on his face.

Oswald stopped and looked up at him.  
He watched one drop of blood he had missed run down the shaft onto Ed’s gloved hand, the black material hiding the crimson stain.  
Ed didn’t notice.  
His blissful smile and obliviousness to what Oswald had done for him that very evening made Oswald snap. He didn’t care that it was unfair.

‘Ed, don't you find it rather convenient that this woman just fell into your lap?’ he asked, careful to keep his voice reasonable.

‘What do you mean?’ Ed asked, eyes narrowing in confusion.

‘Well, you said she asked you a riddle when you met’.

‘That's right’.

‘How could a complete stranger know you liked riddles? Or when and where you would be buying wine?’

‘You think she's a plant’.

‘You don't?’ Oswald asked.  
He was not surprised Ed had considered the possibility but he was shocked that Ed had considered it and yet was still seeing Isabella.

‘I suspected that at first’.

‘At first? What changed your mind?’

Ed looked down at the pavement as a slow smile crept onto his face. He shrugged, scattering raindrops from the umbrella.

‘Not everything has to be analysed Oswald. Sometimes you just...feel it’.

Oswald ran a hand over his face.

‘You, Edward Nygma, are presenting 'destiny' and 'love at first sight' as evidence that she is not a blatant attempt to infiltrate our operation?’ he asked in disbelief.

‘What does she have to gain?’ Ed asked, ‘I don't talk about work with her’.

‘You invited her to the house’, Oswald said.

‘Oh! I’m sorry’, Ed said, genuinely embarrassed at his assumption, ‘I didn't think. I just assumed that, since I was living there-‘

Oswald held up a hand. This was not going how he had hoped.

‘Stop. You were right to assume that’, he said, ‘It's your house too. But, Ed, You can't tell me you don't see the similarities between her and Kris-‘

‘Please don’t mention her again’, Ed said curtly, ‘What kris-Isabella and I have is real. They're completely different people’.

‘You're asking me to trust her based on your gut instinct?’

‘No. I'm asking you to trust _me_ ’.

‘You’re the _only_ one I trust’, Oswald cried, ‘The only one I _can_ trust!’

‘I trust you too Oswald’, Ed said, ‘Believe me, I know this is a big ask: I know Isabella’s presence has bothered you from the start. You're not very good at masking your feelings’.

‘ _Oh yes I am_ ’, Oswald thought bitterly, ‘ _Even worse at knowing when to admit them_ ’.

‘No matter how my relationship with Isabella progresses, you're my best friend. Nothing has changed that’, Ed continued reassuringly, placing a hand on Oswald’s shoulder.

Any other day Oswald would have fought the urge to take Ed’s hand. Tonight, at that moment, he fought the urge to shake it off his shoulder.  
He didn’t want his pity or his understanding.  
He wanted Isabella gone!  
She wasn't who he was supposed to be with: she was Odile! Why couldn’t he see that?!

‘So, are you suggesting I'm jealous of your relationship?’ Oswald asked incredulously, ‘Or do you think that I feel like a third wheel?’

‘Neither one!’ Ed protested, ‘I know you're better than that. But I also know you've been betrayed before and you're (how shall I put this ?)'cautious' of any interlopers and 'protective' of your space. Understandably mind you’.

Oswald saw Ed’s eyes dart upwards pointedly into the umbrella.  
Oswald wondered if perhaps Isabella was in cahoots with Jack Ryder but immediately discounted it. Ryder would have gloated about it no doubt.  
But now Ryder was dead.  
Which left only one potential saboteur he still had to deal with.  
But looking at Ed now, trying so hard to keep Oswald happy and be understanding, he wasn’t sure he would have the stomach to do it.  
Seeing Ed happy, even if it made Oswald unhappy should be enough for him.  
But it wasn’t.

‘There may be some truth to what you've said’, Oswald said slowly, ‘but I've said my piece. Who you choose to spend your time with is none of my business. Love is special and if she makes you happy, then that's the end of it. But I promise you, the minute she doesn't make you happy...’

He looked into Ed’s eyes, to ensure he understood.

‘Then it will be my business’.

‘If that happens then I'll end it myself’, Ed said, meeting Oswald’s steady stare.

A car passed, splashing through a puddle and the pair hastily moved out of the way of the water suddenly flung in their direction.  
Oswald made to continue their journey but Ed didn’t move.

‘By the way’, Ed said, ‘since we’re clearing the air, why did you tell Isabella? About…Arkham. She told me you told her when you came to the library looking for a book’.

‘It just came up in conversation’, Oswald said neutrally.

“Just came up’?’ Ed repeated, his disbelief obvious.

‘I assumed she knew!’ Oswald lied, ‘I thought you would have told her by now! I'm sorry if I overstepped but don’t you think she had a right to know?!’

His deflective fake concern for Isabella’s feelings had the desired effect. Ed’s eyes flicked downwards.

‘I was going to tell her’, he said defensively, ‘I just… didn’t want history to repeat itself’.

‘I know’, Oswald said sympathetically, ‘But there is no point in you falling in love with someone if they aren't worthy of you. They have to be willing to accept even the darkest parts of you. I don’t want to see you get hurt Ed’.

Ed sighed and rubbed his eyes.

‘Most would argue that one should avoid a certified madman, not try to be worthy of him’, he said.

‘Isabella isn't most is she?’ Oswald asked, resuming walking pace.  
‘ _If she was I wouldn't be having this problem!_ ’ Oswald thought.

‘No she isn’t but she could be the one’, Ed smiled, matching Oswald’s slower tread, ‘Thank you for telling her’.

‘Let’s just call it a ‘happy accident’’, Oswald said waving an unconcerned hand.  
‘ _Miserable failure more like_ ’, he thought. 

‘Speaking of accidents, I think that money we gave the theatre would have been better used for parking’, Ed said, looking down at his soaked shoes.

‘Agreed’, Oswald said, grateful for a return to a neutral topic, ‘If it wasn't for the rain we would've been mugged twice by now’.

‘They would have to be very brave muggers’.

‘I'm banking more on very stupid. Far more likely. At least we didn't take the limo. Might be something left of your car’.

They turned the corner and were both happy to see Ed’s car sitting right where they had parked it before the performance.  
Ed unlocked it and held the umbrella over Oswald until he was installed in the front passenger seat. He handed him the umbrella then closed the door. Running around the car to the driver side, he climbed in.

‘I will pay you back for this car Oswald’, Ed said, putting on his seatbelt, ‘I promise’.

‘No rush’, Oswald said, ’My chief of staff needs a work vehicle. I'm just sorry I couldn't get you your original one back’.

‘Yeah, funny how it ended up crushed into a cube rather than impounded for evidence’, Ed mused, ‘You were right though: it looks nice as a bird table’.

‘Won’t be many birds out tonight’, Oswald said, looking up through the windscreen into the dark sky, ‘My mother used to say ‘there’s no rain like Gotham rain’’.

‘She's right’, Ed said as he shivered, ‘Feels like it's in my bones’.

‘Your glasses are steaming up too’, Oswald said gesturing to them.

Ed tutted and reached into his pocket.

‘Shoot’, he said and Oswald realised Ed had forgotten a handkerchief. 

Oswald held out a hand and Ed gave him his glasses. Oswald cleaned them with his own pocket square. He carefully avoided touching them with the bloodied bit he had used to clean his umbrella after his encounter with Ryder. He was sure Ed without his glasses wouldn’t see the red on the white material or if he did would simply mistake it for a pattern.  
Ed took them back, nodding gratefully.  
Oswald felt a twinge of regret as Ed put them back on. He liked looking at Ed’s eyes without them in the way.

‘Have you ever thought about contacts or laser surgery?’ Oswald asked.

‘I’ve had glasses so long I think I'd feel naked without them’, Ed admitted, turning up the heating system in the car.

Oswald sighed gratefully as the warmth from the vents began to heat up the car. He could almost feel the cold melting from his face.

‘Careful with the heat or _you'll_ catch a cold this time’, Oswald warned, shaking a light hearted finger.

‘Then _you_ get to tell _me_ I told you so’, Ed joked, turning the key in the ignition.

The engine purred into life and the car pulled off, heading in the direction of the highway out of town.

‘Oh I will’, Oswald promised, ‘Provided the shock won’t kill you of course’.

As he moved in his seat, he noticed that despite the coverage his umbrella had provided, their coats were still sodden and dripping.

‘We're making a mess of your seats I'm afraid’, Oswald said apologetically.

‘Compared to the fluids it's predecessor saw’, Ed said, turning on the radio, ‘it should consider itself lucky’.

They drove home, enjoying the silent reassurance of each other’s company.  
When word came over the radio that the Gotham Enquirer offices had somehow burst into flame, Ed ignored it, too focused on the road.  
Oswald just smiled and switched the channel.


	21. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***A prompt from a guest on Fanfiction.net who wanted 'a sick heavily medicated Ed pulling Oswald into bed with him' LOL Merry Christmas! This chapter is also dedicated to Hotgothamite on Tumblr (known as MMS on this site) for all her words of support and for recommending me on her blog :)

Olga stood firm, using her not inconsiderable girth to prevent the blonde woman from passing the threshold.

‘Please, I just want to speak to Edward, if you could just-‘

‘He sick’, Olga cut her off, not bothering to use her full language skills.  
She was well aware of the value of brusqueness when it came to repelling unwanted guests. Mr Penguin had made it clear Isabella was not to be let in without the other one’s permission. And, even then only when she was accompanied.  
Unfortunately her statement in this case only seemed to fuel the woman’s desire to get in. Olga narrowed her eyes as she suddenly saw her opponent’s eyes light up and braced herself for impact.  
But Isabella hadn’t spotted a way inside: she had seen Oswald approaching.

‘Mr Mayor!’ she called, on tiptoes so she could peer over Olga’s arm, braced as it was like a barrier against the doorpost, ‘Is Edward okay? I tried his phone but-but he wasn't picking up. I got worried. Your maid says he’s sick?’

‘His phones in his jacket downstairs’, Oswald explained, careful to exude false sympathy, ‘Must have been why he didn't hear your calls’.

' _Because I put it there_ ', he thought with satisfied maliciousness.

‘Oh’, Isabella said, absorbing the information, ‘Well…is he alright? Is there anything I can do?’

‘Well I _finally_ convinced him to get into bed so hopefully he'll be doing a lot better soon’.

‘Could I maybe see him?’

Oswald held up a warning hand, tucking the object he was carrying under his shoulder to facilitate the motion.

‘I had the same thing a few days ago’, he said, ‘Trust me: you don't want it. Besides, how do you think Ed would feel if you got sick because of him? I would personally blame myself’.

Isabella hesitated for a moment and seemed almost about to argue but was ultimately fooled by Oswald’s protective façade. 

‘Okay then’, she nodded after what seemed like an age to Oswald, ‘Tell him I called please?’

‘Of course’, Oswald lied, ‘Are you alright? Not feeling faint are you?’

Isabella blinked as she suddenly realised she had been staring.  
Oswald’s smile widened as he saw the reaction.  
He was carrying his stepmother’s severed head in his hands. He had picked it up deliberately when he had heard Isabella’s voice at the door.  
A subtle indication of his displeasure at her presence as well as a hopeful deterrent to her entry.

‘Yes!’ she stammered, ‘I’m-I’m sorry! It’s just that bust is just so…lifelike!’

‘I hope not’, Oswald joked.

Isabella smiled (a little too eagerly to be a comfortable smile) and left.  
Olga shut the door with a snap and dusted off her hands.

‘Thank you Olga’, Oswald said, handing her Grace’s head, ‘Give Grace’s eyes a polish will you? And bring us up some soup once you’re done’.

Olga carefully took Grace’s head and nodded dutifully.

‘Oh! And no onions’, Oswald instructed, heading back upstairs.

 

‘So, do I get to say I told you so after or…?’ Oswald asked, closing the bedroom door shut behind him.

Ed groaned in reply.  
Their walk through the rain the night before and subsequent exposure to the heating system in his car jacked up to full strength had (as Oswald had predicted at the time) proven costly to Ed's health. He was in the same position Oswald had left him in before his venture downstairs to order Olga to prepare lunch. He was hunched over, sitting on the side of the bed, blanket wrapped around him like a bat at rest. One hand protruded from the blanket, carefully counting out pills from a variety of boxes lined up on the bedside table. Occasionally he would pause and examine the back of a box, reading ingredients.  
The flu that had previously hit Oswald seemed to have hit Ed twice as hard.  
Oswald jokingly thought it must have had to take a running jump as Ed was so tall.  
Unlike Oswald however, Ed had no problem resorting to a pharmaceutical solution to solve his problem.

‘You're going to swallow all of these?’ Oswald asked, raising an eyebrow at the small pile of pills Ed was creating.

‘I _was_ going to stick them up my nose but since you insist, yes’, Ed croaked.

‘Your nose is so stuffed up you couldn't get anything up there’, Oswald quipped, passing him a tissue, ‘Remember sarcasm wastes energy’.

‘This is ridiculous’, Ed muttered, taking a break from his self medication to wipe his watering eyes.

‘What is?’ Oswald asked, ‘Counting out pills like candy or being sick? Nobody can help being sick Ed’.

‘I'm never sick!’ Ed protested before sneezing loudly. 

‘You look pretty sick to me’, Oswald said, ‘Now I'd hate to pull rank on you-‘

‘No you wouldn't’, Ed interjected.

‘Stay in bed’, Oswald said sternly, ‘That's an order’.

‘You can't actually force me-‘

He looked up and saw the way Oswald was looking at him.  
The message was clear: Try me.  
Ed returned his attention to the pills and began closing boxes.

‘The chain of command won't hold me for long’, he growled mutinously.

‘We'll see’, Oswald said, satisfied he seemed to have put Ed in his place temporarily, ‘Can I get you anything else?’

‘Pass the thermos’, Ed asked, holding out an expectant hand.

‘What's the magic word?’ Oswald teased, holding it just out of reach.

‘You're enjoying this far too much’, Ed laughed despite himself.  
After a coughing fit triggered by the laugh he solemnly added, ‘Please’. 

Oswald obliged and Ed began swallowing the line of pills one by one, washing them down with hot liquid from the thermos.

‘Are you familiar with the concept of schadenfreude?’ he asked Oswald as he swallowed pill three of six.

‘Intimately’, Oswald smirked.

‘I thought so’, Ed said, swallowing the last pill, ‘I apologise in advance for anything I may say or do’.

‘Why’s that?’ Oswald asked intrigued.

Ed removed his glasses and lay back on the bed.

‘I’ve designed this particular cocktail to beat this out of me as quickly as possible. So the side effects may be...noticeable’.

‘I'm no expert but judging from the neon colours, they looked pretty strong’, Oswald said, looking at the art of the tablets on the pill boxes.

He noticed the lack of a response and snapped his fingers.

‘Ed?’ he asked, slightly alarmed.

Ed’s eyes clicked open and he sighed.

‘I'm ok’, he breathed, ‘Just...warm’.

He took another sip from the thermos top and Oswald took the chance to examine the liquid more closely.  
He knew that smell!

‘Ed, what kind of tea is that?’ he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

‘Medicinal’, Ed said, smacking his lips appreciatively.

‘That's Foxglove tea!’ Oswald cried, ‘You know what that stuff-‘

‘Good for relaxing’, Ed said simply, ‘Helps turn off my brain’.

‘More like turn it to mush! That's strong stuff, where did you-‘

‘Olga’. 

‘Olga? As in _my maid_ Olga? _Olga_ had foxglove tea?!’

‘The door’, Ed said, ignoring Oswald’s unpleasant imaginings.

‘What?’ Oswald asked.

‘Who was… at…the…’

Ed flopped back onto the pillow as if a strong gust of wind had knocked him down.  
Oswald started forward but saw from the flickering of his eyelids that he was still conscious.

‘Nobody important’, he said, mouth tight at the memory of the interaction.

Ed mumbled something.  
Oswald drew closer.  
Ed’s eyes opened slowly. They were oddly unfocused.

‘Beep’, he said, grin spreading across his face.

‘Beep?’ Oswald asked, eyes narrowed in confusion.

Ed reached up and, using an index finger ‘beeped’ the tip of Oswald’s nose.  
Oswald, startled by Ed’s sudden familiarity and unsure of how to respond, rubbed his nose.

‘You're my friend Oswald’, Ed slurred, obviously well under the influence of his pharmaceutical cocktail, ‘You've always been my friend. Not like Jim and Harvey. They were fake friends. Didn't understand me like you do’.

Oswald froze as Ed’s hand neared his face again.  
But this time, instead of a comedic gesture, Ed gently stroked his cheek with his fingers.  
Oswald felt his cheeks flush at the contact, Ed’s touch painting his skin with desire.

‘You want some tea?’ Ed asked quietly.

‘Yes’. Oswald breathed, his thoughts heady with impending possibilities, ‘Yes I do’.

His fingers shook as he poured himself the remainder of the Foxglove tea from the thermos but they steadied as he downed it in one gulp.

‘My head feels heavy’, Ed moaned.

‘I've got some vaporub’, Oswald offered and picked up a tub from the bedside table.

Ed sat up slowly, hair sticking to his sweat lined forehead.

‘Help me with this’, Ed asked, ‘Please’.

He gestured to his chest and Oswald’s heart skipped a beat even as it seemed to grow louder, the drugged tea taking hold of his brain.  
He sat on the bed beside Ed and reached out with both hands. He hesitated for a fraction of a second as they neared Ed’s shirt buttons but the tea running through his veins seemed to act as a liquid puppeteer and he grabbed the material.  
He began to meticulously unbutton the white material, eyes slowly drifting downwards as more and more of Ed’s chest was revealed.  
Once the shirt was removed, Ed would only be wearing his boxers.  
He had only managed to get the shirt on this morning before crawling back to bed, his logical mind calculating the odds and deciding that trousers seemed to be a nigh impossibility with the fever he was running.  
As soon as Oswald had seen him (when he hadn’t come downstairs for breakfast), he had confiscated the schedules Ed had taken to bed with him to work on and handed Ed a hot water bottle in exchange.  
Oswald smiled as he reflected on how amazing it was to care so much for someone that even a runny nose and sweat soaked sheets didn’t bother you. As long as you knew they were okay.

His reminisces were halted, as while he had been thinking, Ed’s head had begun to droop further and further down until it was resting on Oswald’s shoulder.  
Oswald stiffened slightly but relaxed when he realised what Ed was doing.  
He sighed as he felt Ed’s breath tickling the short hairs on his neck and stifled a gasp when Ed spoke, his unwitting lips running over Oswald’s sensitive skin.

‘Sorry Oswald’, he said.

‘For what?’ Oswald asked, closing his eyes in pleasure at the sensations.

‘Never told you but when Jim cornered me, I thought you'd told him where I was. What I'd done. Thought you sang. Like a canary. I was wrong. So wrong’.

‘I forgive you’, Oswald said quietly.

He reached up with one hand to give Ed a friendly pat on the back as reassurance but somehow this turned into one finger stroking down Ed’s spine.  
Ed sighed huskily and Oswald felt his cock pulse in reply.

‘No’, Ed insisted, ‘You don’t understand. I'm never wrong but I was then’.

‘It's ok really’, Oswald whispered, adding more fingers to his gentle up and down rubbing of Ed’s back.  
Ed was on fire beneath his fingertips and he was forced to swallow a sound of dismay when Ed sat back up.

‘I fell over a tree root’, Ed concluded, nodding seriously.

‘I see’, Oswald acknowledged, certain that this exchange would be making more sense were they not under the influence of a questionable substance.

Ed shrugged his shoulders and tried to remove his shirt but the aches in his arms restricted his movement.  
Oswald eagerly took hold of the shoulders and pulled the material away.  
He threw it onto the floor.  
Ed’s eyes flicked to the vaporub tub and Oswald took the hint. He unscrewed the tub and began to layer some of the gelatinous substance on Ed’s chest.  
Ed’s hand hovered over his and suddenly was upon it, helping guide him in his ministrations.  
Then, Ed was lying back and Oswald found himself enjoying the view, leaning over a prone Ed. Ed’s eyes were glassy but on him, appreciation emanating from the chocolate depths.  
Oswald finished with the vaporub and began to lean back.  
He was halted when Ed suddenly grabbed his hand.  
Ed sniffed Oswald’s palm. Oswald would have given anything for him to suck his fingers and-

‘You smell nice’, Ed commented, interrupting Oswald’s drifting, increasingly erotic thoughts, ‘Like medicine….and oranges?’

‘I brought these up earlier’, Oswald replied, handing Ed an orange slice from a nearby plate.

‘Vitamin C’, Ed said appraisingly, taking the slice, ‘Good’.

‘Suck it’, Oswald said, licking his lips, ‘You’ll get more of the juice that way’.

Ed nodded obediently and, holding one end of the slice in his fingers, began to lick and suck at the other end. He ‘hmmed’ in appreciation at the taste and closed his eyes.  
Oswald watched the rhythmic movements, mesmerised by the soft orange fruit glistening against Ed’s pink lips. Ed’s adam apple moved up and down as he swallowed the sweet juice, hungrily sucking the slice as hard as he could.  
Oswald took the opportunity to savour his own appetites, gently stroking his cock, imprisoned within his own boxers beneath his immaculate suit trousers. Ed wouldn’t notice. He was too busy being the most desirable thing Oswald had ever seen.  
Ed was his. Not Isabella’s. His.  
Perhaps he was more of a magpie than a penguin.  
Ed eating the orange, despite its mundane nature, became a mesmerizing passion play for Oswald. When Ed sucked a little more of the slice down, Oswald matched his strokes with it, playing out his own titillating version of the scene against the backdrop of his mind.  
Then, suddenly, it was over: Ed swallowed the final segment of orange and Oswald was forced to stop what he was doing in case Ed noticed.  
He expected to feel annoyed but didn’t.  
Every time he denied himself now would just bring more satisfaction later.  
Noticing a single drop of juice had escaped Ed’s lips, Oswald reached for a cloth in a basin of water. Wringing it out, he dabbed at the corner of Ed’s mouth and proceeded to sroke his forehead with it, trying to cool Ed down.

‘Oswald?’ Ed whispered, eyes feverishly bright as he turned to regard his ‘doctor’.

‘Y-yes?’ Oswald asked, watching in rapture as Ed licked the orange juice from his long fingers, one by one.

Ed finished his grooming and said, ‘Need you to do something for me’.

‘Anything’, Oswald declared but barely got the word out before Ed grabbed him.

Despite his weakened state, Ed’s grip was strong and before Oswald knew what was happening, Ed had pulled him under the blanket with him.  
Oswald, shocked by the sudden, intimate gesture had just enough presence of mind to hide his erection between his legs, lifting up a knee to shield it.  
He was facing Ed, his head level with Ed’s chest.  
Ed was pulling the thick blanket over them both.

‘Need body heat to Help purge infection’, Ed gasped, tired from the effort of pulling Oswald into the bed, ‘Won't tell anyone’.

He began to reach for Oswald’s shirt buttons but stopped just as he got close.  
Oswald blushed as he realised Ed was hesitating because he thought Oswald might stop him.  
As if pulled by a physical force, he reached out and brought Ed’s hands closer: a silent invitation for him to disrobe him.

‘Our secret’, Oswald promised, using his wrists to lay Ed’s hands on his chest.

Ed nodded, eyes glazed and mouth slack as Oswald removed his grip on Ed’s hands.  
Ed began to unbutton Oswald’s shirt slowly, carefully, as if unwrapping a valuable antique.  
While Ed did, Oswald reached down, undid his fly and pulled off his suit trousers. He threw them outside the blanket just as Ed finished with his shirt.  
Oswald pulled it off and it joined the trousers in a heap on the floor.  
Ed laid his head on the pillow and Oswald lay beside him still facing inwards.  
Ed’s skin was hot to the touch and Oswald felt his own cool temperature being absorbed into it. Ed was warming him just by being there beside him.  
Oswald swallowed hard.  
How often had he dreamed of this?  
Sharing a bed with the man he loved?  
He gave an odd mewling noise when Ed touched the top of his head with one hand.  
He couldn’t help the noise: he had to vocalise how he felt or else his heart was going to burst!  
Ed’s fingers ruffled his hair and Oswald heard him give a laugh.

‘Look at you, feathers all ruffled’, Ed giggled.

Ed’s arm was around his waist and his grip was firm.  
Oswald looked up at him, no longer bothering to hide the hunger from his face.  
Was this it?! Was this the moment?!  
He moistened his lips.  
He didn’t know what to say! He had never known what to say despite all his practicing and ‘dress rehearsals’.  
So he wasn’t going to say. He was going to ‘do’.  
He leant towards Ed’s smiling face, preparing to kiss him, to finally throw them both over the event horizon from friends to lovers.  
But as he neared, he realised Ed wasn’t reacting to his intimate approach.

He waved a hand in front of Ed’s eyes and got no response. Then he realised Ed’s breaths were too heavy, too peaceful to be conscious breaths.  
Ed, finally overcome either by his sickness or the ‘drowsy’ side effects of the pills he had consumed, had passed out.

Oswald resignedly closed Ed’s lids shut then tried to gently extricate himself.  
Then he tried hard.  
Then he just stopped trying.  
Ed’s grip seemed to have locked like a dying man’s, trapping Oswald in the bed with him.  
But, why was he trying to get away?  
Ed had wanted body heat. Oswald wanted to be in bed with him.  
Oswald’s position right now served both their needs.  
But there was another need that needed attending to.  
Despite a wicked voice in his brain whispering that Ed was unconscious now, Oswald refused to touch him. It would be a violation of Ed’s privacy and he would never do that. It wasn’t right.  
Besides, it was his body that needed release, not Ed’s. His needed rest.  
But Oswald, judgement impaired and wracked with thwarted desire was not about to waste the opportunity.  
He quietly and slowly reached out of the cover and took a tissue from the box on the bedside table.  
He licked his thumb and, reaching down with his other hand, took his cock out of his boxers. He began to lazily swirl a thumb over the head as his eyes feasted on Ed’s sleeping face.  
Is this how Ed would hold him? If they ever made love?  
He began to pump as he realised Ed’s mouth was moving in slumber.  
Without realising he was doing it, he began to mimic the movements of Ed’s mouth, his tongue lashing as he pictured shoving it past Ed’s lips and claiming him as his own.  
He pictured Ed’s fingers on his waist griping tighter as they fucked on Oswald’s bed, Ed’s bed, the table in Ed’s office-  
First Oswald was on top but then Ed was, his eyes ablaze with dominance as he screwed Oswald into oblivions, making him sing the sweetest notes he could produce in a chorus of gasps and moans and-  
Oswald was pumping steadily now, unable to go as vigorously, as harsh, as he usually liked due to Ed’s proximity.  
Oswald would claw at Ed’s back as Ed drove into him, manicured nails leaving angry red trails that he would soothe afterwards by licking and stroking. Ed would bite his shoulder as he hoisted Oswald’s knees up, driving Oswald to new heights of ecstasy at the sublime marriage of pleasure and pain! And the toys! Such wonderful toys they could use! On each other! Or one could use as the other watched and touched themselves and-  
Oswald exhaled, shuddering as he came, the white liquid spurting hot and fast into the waiting tissue.  
He cleaned himself and discarded the tissue into the wastebasket waiting outside the bed.  
He was simultaneously disgusted and aglow with what he had done.  
Both emotions compelled him to crane his neck up and plant a light kiss on Ed’s shoulder. Ed would never know it was there.  
But Oswald would.  
Ed stirred in his sleep and Oswald found Ed moving closer to him.  
His lips rested on Oswald’s forehead.  
He mumbled something.  
It was like a kiss and the words mumbled were ‘I love you’. 

Oswald couldn't believe what he's hearing. He didn’t dare to believe. Ed barely knew where he was. If he did feel that way about Oswald, he wouldn’t be saying it now! Or would he, given his brain was scrambled?  
No.  
No matter how much Oswald wanted to believe he had heard those words, he had to believe it was just what he wanted to hear.  
But, what was wrong with believing a little longer?  
Before the reality that was Isabella continued to stab him the heart every time he saw Ed with her?!

His sad musings were cut short by Olga coming into the room without knocking.  
Oswald swore and tucked his cock back into his boxers even though his body was hidden beneath the blanket.  
Ed didn’t wake up which left Oswald to try and explain the situation to a (surprisingly) unruffled Olga.

‘Olga!’ Oswald hissed, being careful to keep his tone hushed to make sure Ed stayed asleep, ‘Olga help! He grabbed me! Pills are making him crazy!’

Olga placed the tray she had been carrying on the dresser, two hot bowls of soup sitting beside a crusty loaf of bread on fine china dishes.  
She just smiled at Oswald, tapped her nose and left.

Oswald cursed the woman's inability to grasp simple English as he settled back beneath the blanket.  
And, as Ed stirred slightly beside him, made a mental note to add something extra to her pay cheque that week.


	22. Chasing Rabbits

The only sound in the interview room was the wall clock ticking. It was accordingly rhythmic but what bothered Ed was that, on the way in, he had noticed it was three minutes late. Just another thing in Arkham that appeared perfectly functional but in reality was utterly unfit for purpose.  
He looked down at his own (correctly wound) watch.  
Realising he had been sitting there for a full seven minutes, he lost patience with waiting for the other occupant of the room to speak.

‘I got your letter’, Ed said, sliding the envelope he had received into the office that morning across the table, ‘From the ‘Jefferson Airplane’ company? Subtle’.

Jervis Tetch didn’t look at it, just kept staring at the door. Ed had dismissed the guards from the room. He had had more than enough of their presence for a lifetime, even if he wasn’t an inmate this time. 

‘It wasn't meant for you’, Tetch said dismissively, ‘It was intended for Mayor Cobblepot to view’.

‘Is it hard to talk that way all the time? Or even just the tiniest bit annoying?’

‘I heard riddles are your conceit not rhyme’, Jervis said, rolling his eyes, ‘Is the Mayor on his way? You're wasting my time’.

‘You must have some spare minutes lying around. Enjoying the view from the bars of your cell?’

‘Not as much as you did I bet’, Tetch bristled, finally turning to look at Ed properly, ‘But I take what comforts I can get. Like knowing that this city will soon fall to madness and it's all thanks to my dear sister Alice’.

Ed ignored Tetch’s wicked smile and picked a bit of dust off his jacket.  
Doing a quick mental calculation of syllables and metre, he decided to draw Jervis out using his own parlance.

‘If you think this place isn't already Hell then you don't know Gotham very well’, Ed said, flicking the miniscule fluff onto the floor.

‘I asked for the mayor, not a bit player!’ Tetch snapped, slapping his palms onto the table, ‘After all he's the monster slayer! Much like the white rabbit he's running late! Or did bad memories prevent him coming through the gate?!’

Ed met Tetch’s irritation with icy calm, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.  
It was closer to the truth than Tetch knew. When Ed had told Oswald he had been invited to inspect a new facility at Arkham, Oswald had not objected when Ed had offered to go alone. Oswald still hadn’t told Ed what Strange had done to him. He didn’t have to.  
The way Oswald blanched anytime someone mentioned Arkham was evidence enough.

‘The mayor’s a busy man, I'm sure you can tell. Talk to me or go back to your cell’, Ed rhymed.

Tetch looked for a moment as if he was about to launch another tirade but then gave an odd spasm and instead, burst into giddy laughter. 

‘So you are a fellow poet! I am impressed! Had I known I would've been properly dressed’, he joked behind one hand, using the other to pull at his striped overalls.

Ed fought the urge to shake his head in disdain.  
He thought for a moment (and not for the first time) that there should really have been a separate prison for ‘anti-socialites’ like himself and Oswald and another for the truly crazy like Jervis Tetch.  
They were nothing alike and yet here they were.  
He was distracted by his self-reflection by Tetch suddenly snapping his fingers in recognition.

‘Nygma isn't it? The Mayor’s number two? I suppose I should be flattered he chose to send you’.

‘Oswald didn't choose. He thinks I'm here to inspect’, Ed said, ‘Now, explain to me why your offer would be good to accept’.

Tetch beamed and clapped his hands, waggling his fingers impressively.

‘Isn't it obvious? To the modern politician, what could be more useful than a hypnotic magician? A pardon seems a small price to pay when I could make everyone in Gotham do as he says’.

‘You don't think it would harm his image? Being pictured beside your deranged visage?’

‘I would think to him it would be run of the mill’, Tetch said, eyes narrowing, ‘Remind me: How many people did _you_ kill?’

Ed stood up and adjusted his jacket.

‘I think we're done here’, he said, ‘For someone so vaudevillian, your brain appears positively reptilian’.

‘Oh come now!’ Tetch cried, ‘What offence have I caused to make you so uncouth? Is it so awful to hear the truth? I have no desire to make you despise, if you want proof of that…’

Tetch looked up at him with renewed focus in his eyes. Ed stared back despite himself. 

‘…Look into my eyes’, Tetch concluded smoothly.

He pointed at the chair Ed had just vacated and Ed made an odd stooping motion before catching himself. The urge to retake the seat had been overpowering for the briefest of moments.  
So, this was how it felt. Tetch's so-called 'hypnosis'. 

‘Are you scared?’

Tetch’s voice seemed to be coming from a great height but simultaneously echoing around him. Ed had the disconcerting feeling it was literally going in his ears and crowding everything else out of his brain.

‘Afraid of what you might see? Logic and reason are no defence against me. Now have a seat and let's begin. In the battle of wills, I always win’.

Ed sat down.  
Tetch grinned triumphantly.

‘See? You can't help but do as I say. No matter how much you don't want to obey. But I'm not interested in holding that over your head. I want a business transaction: to help you instead’.

‘Why?’ Ed asked, voice straining to form the question without Tetch’s permission.

‘If I can't get to the Mayor I'll settle for you’, Tetch shrugged, ‘I'm sure an aide can grant a pardon or two? Name your price and I’ll pay it in spades. My freedom for my services seems a fair trade. So don't dilly dally, get out your pen! I'm looking forward to wearing real clothes again’.

Ed’s fingers twitched and his wrist locked as his arm began to rise towards the inside pocket in his jacket. He gave a muted grunt as he struggled to prevent his own arm’s inevitable movement towards the pen in his pocket.  
Tetch was watching the ‘puppet show’ with relish.

‘Oh that's so cute, you're trying to stop me getting in. You're a challenge that's for sure: you’re no easy win. But you'll bend and you'll break, I've seen it before. Don't make me reduce you to a babbling mess on the floor’.

The threat added the extra force needed to break Ed’s concentration. He took out the pen and a notepad. He began to write mechanically. He knew it wouldn’t be an official pardon but once Jervis had it, it would be easy for him to use Ed as a mouthpiece and convince the warden to free him pending the proper certification from the mayor’s office.

‘To me this decision seems purely win-win’, Tetch said, nodding in approval, ‘Tell me, how do you like working for Penguin?’

‘It's the happiest I've ever been in my life’, Ed said without hesitation, ‘I love-‘

Ed clamped his jaw shut, causing pain to spasm along the bottom of his chin as he slid the impromptu pardon across the table to Tetch.  
The hatter ignored it.  
His erratic brain seemed to have latched onto something he deemed more interesting.

‘Do you know when you talk about a certain someone your pupils dilate? Love is a language I know how to translate’.

‘What do you know about Isabella?’ Ed asked, heart pounding.

Tetch gave an unsettling, high pitched giggle.

‘It is not a woman to whom I refer but tell me Edward do you _really_ love her?’

‘Yes. But...’

Tetch grinned, relishing Ed’s discomfort.  
That ‘but’ obviously hadn’t meant to slip out!

‘I thought so’, he said conspiratorially, ‘Boy meets girl: you think it’s fate. She's turned your head but I can tell she's not your soulmate!’

‘No! I love Isabella!’ Ed protested but he knew Tetch didn’t believe him.

The worst part of it was he was telling the truth but deep down, he knew it wasn’t the whole truth…

‘Come now don't be coy’, Tetch taunted, ‘Tell me who's the real lucky girl...or boy?’

Ed swallowed hard.

‘Isabella loves me’.

Tetch waved his index finger in mock admonishment.

‘Tsk tsk! Answer what I ask you! All other replies I’ll ignore. Now speak or I'll make you crawl around like a dog on the floor. Isabella’s not who you think of in bed at night. The one you imagine with perverse delight’.

Ed turned away but it did little to help relieve Tetch’s words thundering in his brain. It felt like he was hammering at the walls of his self-control and Ed just knew that no matter what he did, they were going to come tumbling down!  
Tetch was practically crawling across the table he was leaning so far forward, feasting on Ed’s inner turmoil.

‘Tell me!’ he whispered urgently, licking his chapped lips, ‘Who is this person who you feel you must claim? Who makes your loins burn as you pump and gasp out their name?’

‘Oswald’, Ed breathed.

Jervis clapped with delight as Ed gaped and slapped a hand over his mouth. He felt himself shaking as Tetch released his mental hold on him, obviously too busy congratulating himself on the secret he had just pried loose.

‘Who knew that the one you really desire is one I've had in the line of fire?!’ Tetch laughed.

‘I don't know what you're talking about’, Ed countered lamely, ‘You made me say that!’

Tetch ignored him. Ed didn’t blame him.

‘You and the mayor?! I’ve just done the math! A match in heaven: a sadist and a psychopath!’

‘Don't call me that’, Ed snarled, slamming a fist on the table.

Tetch shrugged, unabashed.

‘I never said which was which, I suppose it could be either’, Tetch said airily before grinning knowingly, ‘Tell me which one of you is giver and which is receiver?’

Ed made a noise of disgust but Tetch treated it as if Ed had just made a polite observation, nodding agreeably.

‘Now I'm glad you’re the one who got my letter’, Tetch said, clasping his hands together, ’Because you are living proof that the mayor could do better. You're not his equal, a worthy henchmen or a dangerous crook. You're only there because he likes how you look!’

‘You think a certified madman isn’t dangerous?’ Ed asked through gritted teeth.

Tetch scoffed, waving a hand.

‘I've read the news, heard the stories: pathetic failure followed your past glories. Kringle was what? 108 pounds light? Despite his size, I think the Penguin will put up more of a fight’.

‘I would never hurt Oswald!’ Ed snapped, ‘Not even you can make that happen! Hypnosis is based on innate impulses that compel the subject to act in certain ways. You can’t convince somebody to do something they would never do!’

‘Really? By that token I _could_ make you choke him. Cut circulation to his brain! If it happened to one lover, it can happen again. But for now, thank you for my golden ticket. I’ll be in touch about how I’ll repay it’.

Tetch made to take the pardon but Ed’s palm suddenly slammed down on top of it.

‘Don’t be bitter you fell for my little plan’, Tetch chided, as he lifted Ed’s fingers one by one off the paper ‘Now…’

He flicked his fingers miming as if he were tipping a wide brimmed hat.

‘Good day to you my good m-‘

Ed balled up his fingers and punched Tetch in the face before he could finish.  
Tetch gave a yell of pain and jumped backwards, falling out of his seat.  
Ed picked up the paper from the desk, now splattered with blood from Tetch’s nose and tore it up. He deposited the fragments into his pocket, disposing of the evidence.  
Tetch was kneeling on the floor, red gushing from between the fingers shielding his nose from further injury.  
Looking up at Ed, he realised his hypnosis had not been nearly as effective as it usually was.

‘I'm not a good man but I _am_ protective’, Ed said, slipping back into rhyme to metaphorically kick Tetch while he was down, ‘Next time, when picking enemies, be more selective’.

Tetch spat out a thick gobbet of red and glared up at Ed before yelling:

‘Guards, get in here and teach this ruffian some manners! Show what it means when you lay hands on the hatter!’

Ed snickered at the utter lack of guards flooding into the room.  
Tetch looked at a loss at the same absence.

‘I already know the secret to your trick’, Ed said, tapping his glasses, ‘Eye to eye contact is what makes it tick. But glass partitions in the way mean your powers lose much of their sway. The guards who brought you in were wearing contacts. They couldn’t care less that you’ve just been attacked’.

Tetch’s jaw nearly hit the floor but after a moment of babbling, he regained some composure. At least enough to jab an accusing, blood stained finger at Ed.

‘But- wait! That means you weren't hypnotised! But-but then why tell me how you feel? Unless you've lied?!’

‘I didn’t lie’, Ed said, ‘But like I said, thanks to my glasses, I only told you what I wanted to let slip’.

‘Why?!’ Tetch asked, ‘What do you gain from telling me your secret?!’

Ed clapped his hands together. He had been waiting for this: the grand unveiling. 

‘Time for a riddle’, he pronounced, ‘What is the best way to unburden yourself of a secret that gnaws at you? The kind of secret that torments you with ‘what ifs’? The kind of secret that no matter what good things you have, you can only think about what you don't have?’

Jervis looked blank.

‘You confess under 'duress'’, Ed continued, content that Tetch recognised the questions as rhetorical, ‘Get someone to pry it out of you like a rotten tooth so you don't have to feel It ache anymore. So you're free to be happy with what you can have. I love Isabella. Nothing can change that. I also love Oswald. The key difference is that Oswald does _not_ love me. Will _never_ love me. Nothing can change that either. No matter how much I might wish or hope’.

He knelt down to better meet Tetch’s hateful, watchful gaze.

‘Just between us, you can shout what I've 'admitted' until it bounces off the walls’, Ed said looking around at the high ceiling and corners of the room, ‘Nobody will believe you. The only person that I don't want knowing will never hear it. Thanks to Strange, he'll never set foot in here again’.

He stood back up, looking down at Tetch. He seemed small and fragile with his pale face besmirched with blood.

‘Oswald may not _want_ me but he _needs_ me’, Ed concluded, ‘And that's enough’.

Tetch wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, staining it with drying blood as he stood.

‘Why did you meet me today?’ he growled, his continued lack of rhyme indicative of his frustration, ‘Just to prove how very clever you are?!’

‘Couple of reasons’, Ed admitted, ‘I wanted to meet you: to see if you were truly worthy to call yourself the ‘master of the mind’ and when I realised you weren't what your business cards made you out to be, I decided to show you what you're up against. You think you're a big fish Tetch but Oswald eats jumped up small fry like you for lunch. I clean up the bones. Consider your application for a pardon denied’.

Ed turned and headed for the door.  
When he felt a sudden pressure and a yank from the back of his jacket, he realised Tetch had grabbed him. On instinct, Ed pulled his knife out of his jacket and wheeled around but one look at Tetch’s expression stopped him downward stab.  
Tetch’s face, now devoid of his smugness (and even his detached madness) was leaking desperation as well as blood. Ed knew that fear: he had felt it often inside these walls. The animalistic fear of being trapped.

‘No…no! Wait! Wait!’ Tetch gasped hastily, ‘You're missing an opportunity! I can make him want you!’

‘What?’ Ed asked quietly.

‘Don't you understand?! I can _make_ him love you. Just let me out and I can give you what you want most! One look into my eyes and Oswald will be gazing lovingly into yours! Forever!’

Ed’s arm hovered above Tetch’s face, the knife shining in the light from the lamp swinging lazily above their heads.  
He hated the ache of temptation that curled around his heart like a poisonous snake. The desire to have Oswald feel about Ed the way Ed felt about him! Ed had hardly been subtle about his feelings! The riddle during the mayoral campaign and its answer, helping Oswald dress and prepare for his engagements and throwing himself in front of Butch’s assault out of nothing more than a desperate instinct to protect the one he loved!  
A few days ago, he had thought, for the briefest of moments that Oswald was going to say something in his office. Ed had dared to hope he felt the same! Tried to forget the lesson that Kristen Kringle had taught him: that love made you weak. But it had turned out to be nothing: an errant thought that had slipped Oswald’s mind and never resurfaced.  
Even when he had met Isabella and felt an instant connection with her, he had expected Oswald to say something when he told him about her!  
But, no.  
Oswald had been accepting and supportive of Ed’s new relationship despite his admitted reservations about Isabella’s intentions.  
So Ed had been his usual pragmatic self. He would pursue a relationship with Isabella: someone who did love him and would accept him loving her back.  
But…she wasn’t Oswald.  
No matter how much he loved their riddle exchanges, her intelligence and her kindness, Isabella was forever fated to be Ed's silver medal. Why did he always fall in love with those he couldn't have?! He directed his anger at the whole tangled situation towards Tetch. The unwitting scapegoat was smiling as he realised from Ed’s deliberately blank expression, that he was considering his offer.

‘You try to contact Oswald or come near us again and I'll paint the walls with what's left of your brain’, Ed snarled and flung Tetch back.

Tetch went sprawling to the ground and Ed slammed the door behind him as he stalked into the corridor. The guard who was on duty to escort Tetch back to his cell, locked the interview room.  
Ed hid the knife back inside his coat before the guard could spot it.

‘I think Mr Tetch would like a change in cell’, he said.

‘Any cell in particular?’ the guard asked.

‘I understand he's due to be moved out of the treatment wing and into the general population’, Ed said, producing a wad of bills that he offered to the guard, ‘The Mayor’s office would be personally grateful to you if his new cell was as 'comfortable' as mine was’. 

The guard accepted the bills and tucked them into his wallet.

‘Yessir Mr Nygma’, he said eagerly, ‘Anything for Mayor Cobblepot’.

‘I know the feeling’, Ed said and walked towards freedom, ignoring the laughter and screams bleeding from the walls.


	23. Indulgences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Inspired by a conversation between myself and Hotgothamite (MMS on this site) about how there aren't enough drunk nightclub fics out there for Ed and Oswald. Warning! Angst and Misunderstanding ahead! Also bonus points to whomever gets the song reference ;)**

Ed took a sip and swallowed. He eyed the remains of the clear liquid critically.

‘This martini is watered down’, he said.

Oswald took a sip of his own and screwed up his face at the taste.

‘They must be serving us the customer beverages’, he muttered, clicking his fingers.

He had a whispered word in the ear of the summoned waiter and the waiter hurried to fulfil Oswald’s orders, removing the offending martinis.  
Oswald made a mental note to have another ‘word’ with the rest of the staff at some point over the next few days. Remind them who paid their salaries.  
Diluted drinks were not a good start to the evening.  
It had taken a lot of persuasion but finally Oswald had convinced Ed to leave the mansion and come out to the club with him. He couldn’t stand to see Ed obsess over that woman’s death, muttering to himself, re-examining the severed brakes over and over again as he paced through the mansion.  
When he had suggested Ed go to Isabella’s crash site, he had thought that would have been the end of it but no. Apparently some tramp had run his mouth off and now Ed was champing at the bit, determined to find the person responsible for her death.  
And Oswald couldn’t have that.  
Butch would make a suitable sacrificial scapegoat to satisfy Ed’s bloodlust and that would be the end of it. Once Butch was dead, Ed would never think of that woman again. Oswald would make sure of that.  
Oswald’s men had had no luck tracking down the tramp. Oswald hadn’t decided what to do with him once they found him. He would probably just go with what came naturally. Making him less chatty was definitely a priority but it didn’t have to be the ‘be all and end all’.  
It was only when Oswald had explained their trip out was for the purpose of holding an impromptu wake for Isabella that Ed had finally responded.  
They had decided to go to ‘Oswald’s’: busy but not too busy with a nice, relaxed atmosphere. Ed had commented that Isabella would’ve liked it. Oswald felt this information more than justified the redecoration he had been considering.

New martinis materialized and Oswald tasted his, the flavour infinitely more pleasing now the ratio of alcohol was correct.  
Ed was about to take a drink of his own but Oswald held up a hand.  
The reason why was made apparent in the next second. The waiter plopped an umbrella in each martini then excused himself. Each umbrella had olives speared on it.  
Ed’s umbrella was green.

‘You think of everything’, Ed said appraisingly. 

‘It's the little things’, Oswald replied before solemnly raising his glass, ‘To Isabella’.

Ed nodded and they clinked their glasses before downing them together.

 

***Two hours later***

‘Ed. It’s fine! Let him go. No harm done. Look’.

Oswald showed Ed the napkin he had been handed by the man Ed was currently holding against a wall.  
Ed had reacted as soon as he had seen the man brush up against Oswald. The movement had been too precise to be accidental, even in the confines of the crowd dancing.  
The man’s eyes were wide.  
As well they should have been since Ed was holding a knife to his femoral artery even as he held onto his shirt collar.  
Ed didn’t blame him for that. He did however blame him for interrupting his and Oswald’s dancing.  
Ed was fond of ‘Hold me, Thrill me, Kiss me, Kill me’ despite his preference for swing and jazz music.  
And all just to hand Oswald a tattered looking napkin?  
Despite his frustration at the man’s rudeness, Ed let him go and turned to walk back to the bar for another drink.

‘You some kind of psycho or something?!’ the man snapped, brushing his shirt down.

Oswald held up a hand, halting Ed as he started to move forward, an all too familiar (and dangerous) look in his brown eyes.

‘I think it’s about time you left’, Oswald smiled at the man, clicking his fingers, ‘For your own good’.

A pair of large bouncers in tuxedos appeared to materialise from the crowd around them and bodily hauled the man away, his protesting voice soon drowned out by the music.  
Oswald patted Ed’s chest and they left the dancefloor.  
As they walked, Oswald opened the napkin and scoffed at the contents.  
Ed saw the napkin had a phone number on it and watched as Oswald crumpled the note in one hand. He dropped it unceremoniously into a half empty glass on the bar. Ed watched it sink to the bottom of the glass and begin the slow yet inevitable process of dissolution.  
Oswald didn’t look twice at it.  
Ed had gone quiet, staring at nothing, hands clenched. He was swaying slightly.  
Oswald knew Ed had had twice as much to drink as he had. The only reason his eyes were still focusing at all was his genius level intellect and his hyperactive metabolism.  
A weaker man would have been unable to stand by now.

‘Come with me’, he said, taking Ed’s hand excitedly to bring him back to reality, ‘I want to show you something’.

He led a passive Ed to a set of stairs behind a curtain towards a door covered with black velvet. There was a sign hanging from the doorknob that read ‘No Entry’.  
Oswald ignored it and opened the door.

‘After you’, Oswald offered and Ed went inside.

He watched with a thrill as he saw Ed surreptitiously return the knife he was carrying to his pocket as he passed him. To pull it out so openly and be willing to kill just because someone bumped into Oswald! It was…flattering.  
It was just further proof that Isabella had been a poor match for Ed.  
She probably would’ve shrieked if he had done that for her. Not recognised it as the protective gesture it was.  
Only The Penguin could match the contrast of light and dark that Ed harboured inside him.  
Isabella would have tried to tame him no doubt. Make him normal. Blunt his teeth.  
But Ed was a predator.  
If Isabella had had her way, Ed would have gone hungry. Pacing behind gilded cage bars as his mind gradually dulled from exposure to a ‘normal life’.  
Through her kindness and understanding, Isabella would have killed him.  
So Oswald had killed her first.  
In those brief moments when he felt the faint twinges of guilt or regret at the pain he had caused Ed, Oswald thought about that and they instantly went away.  
Law of the jungle. 

‘You’re expanding’, Ed said, examining the room as he entered, ‘So the club can cater to other ‘needs’’.

There was a large platform in the centre of the room: a stage extending from a pair of large, velvet, dark blue curtains. There were three separate poles extending from it, secured from both the ceiling and the ground. A smaller bar than the one downstairs lined one wall. The room was nautical themed with seashell shaped lights and glittering white lights set into the ceiling. The room was dim but not dark, the lights adding to the secretive atmosphere and the risqué nature of the room’s intention.

‘Do you like the name?’ Oswald asked.

Ed looked at the sign behind the bar that Oswald was pointing to.  
It read ‘The Iceberg Lounge’ in large cursive blue letters. An art deco inspired image of an iceberg lined the text. 

‘Stylish’, Ed complimented, ‘Very you’.

Ed leapt onto the stage, a tad shakily due to the level of alcohol in his bloodstream and ran a hand up the pole protruding from the floor.  
He held on and, pivoting himself with one foot, swung himself around 360 degrees. He laughed at the smoothness of the movement.  
Oswald laughed too at the comical image of the usually rigid Ed swinging around like a child at play.  
But then Ed started to shake things up.  
Ed wrapped his legs around the pole and swung himself around, arms spread wide like bird wings. The he leapt off and wrapped one leg around it, gyrating cheekily.  
Oswald had to physically stop his jaw dropping.  
He had no idea Ed could be so…flexible.

‘What do you think?’ Ed asked, as he slid down the pole and ended up lying adjacent to it, ‘Found my calling?’

‘I think you’re supposed to do it with less clothes on’, Oswald half joked, ‘But I’ll keep you in mind’.  
_‘Especially later on tonight. In private_ ’, Oswald thought cheekily.

‘You ever see that movie?’ Ed asked.

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘Bit too much to drink but I’ll try’, Ed laughed, getting unsteadily to his feet.  
His time on the pole had caused the room to tilt and pitch like a ship at sea.  
It was so disorienting that Ed found it quite amusing.

Oswald watched as Ed mimicked a pose. With one leg out behind him, he raised both of his arms horizontally, like a tightrope walker. He raised himself onto the toes of the foot that remained on the floor but was forced to grab hold of the pole again when he lost his balance.  
Oswald laughed.  
Ed under the influence had all the co-ordination of a newborn giraffe.  
But Oswald had understood the reference.

‘I know the movie you’re talking about’, Oswald said, ‘But think they were better dancers’.

‘We’re good dancers!’ Ed protested, ‘We could do it! You know, if you wanted to or…if we wanted to?’

Oswald shrugged, feeling heady from both the amount of drinks he’d had as well as their environs.

‘Why not?’ Oswald asked and took up position in the centre of the room, ‘Come on then’.

He threw off his jacket and Ed did the same.  
Ed prepared to take a running jump but stopped dead after one step.

‘Wait wait wait! You absolutely sure you don't want _me_ to lift _you_?’ Ed asked, incorrectly pointing at Oswald first then himself, ‘I am slightly tispy but I think the laws of physics say-

‘Physics also say penguins can't fly right?’ Oswald interjected, keeping his arms raised.

‘Yeah, yeah everyone knows that’. 

‘So I can't be the one in the air can I?’ Oswald asked, rolling his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, ‘Logically?’

Ed nodded slowly.  
A fleeting thought informed him that Oswald’s statement made way more sense than it should have. Which probably meant it was a bad idea.  
But Ed was too inebriated to care.

‘Nobody puts Pengy in the corner?’ he joked, readying himself.

‘Damn right’, Oswald grinned.

Ed jumped from the stage into Oswald’s waiting arms.  
And the inevitable happened.

They both fell in a heap to the floor, Ed’s limbs spread eagled as he lay on top of a flattened Oswald.

‘Mmm… soft’, Ed purred, running his fingers through the thick white carpet beneath them. 

His fall had been slightly cushioned by Oswald and the white rug beneath him was sitting on top of a thicker blue carpet but he was not completely unscathed by the fall. Exercising his mental discipline (blunted as it was), he pushed the miscellaneous aches and catalogue of emerging bruises to the back of his mind. They were a problem for tomorrow morning when he would hopefully care again.

‘You're heavier than you look!’ Oswald laughed breathlessly which degenerated into a pained groan as his ribs ached from the blunt force trauma they had just endured.  
He pushed Ed off him by using his good knee against the floor to create leverage.  
Ed didn’t resist and lay on his side.

‘A little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest men’, Ed quoted.

‘Who said that?’

‘Can’t ‘member’, Ed said and burst into peals of laughter.

Oswald remained on his back, trying in vain to pump air back into his lungs even as he guffawed with Ed.  
They knew they were laughing at nothing but for some reason that only made it funnier!  
Eventually their laughter died away, replaced by a quiet that was undercut by the beats from the nightclub downstairs.  
They were both so exhausted, they remained on the floor, lying beside each other like wounded soldiers.

‘Oswald? Personal question’.

‘No other kind when you’ve had this much to drink Ed’.

‘Who was your first kill?’

‘You make it sound like-like a… first kiss’.

‘I've learned both are...intimate acts’.

Oswald had never thought about it like that. But he found himself agreeing.

‘Sorry to disappoint you’, he replied, ‘But the first person I killed was for the dry clothes and food he had. I was also supposed to be dead at the time. He saw me walking, well, limping around. Couldn’t risk it’.

‘Law of the jungle. Eat or be eaten’, Ed pronounced, ‘Nothing personal’.

‘Law of Gotham’, Oswald gently corrected.

Oswald raised himself carefully up on one elbow, resting his head in his hand.

‘But, Ed, when it _is_ personal, like it will be for you when you catch Butch, savour it. Don’t rush it and don’t let them dictate the pace. You enjoy it. Make it something to remember. Make it special’.

‘Like a kiss?’ Ed asked.

‘Sometimes the best isn't your first’, Oswald shrugged, wondering where Ed was going with this metaphor.

‘We'll see’, Ed says.

Suddenly Ed’s face was encroaching into Oswald’s personal space.  
His eyes were closing.  
He was so close Oswald could smell the tint of alcohol on his breath, the steam from the vapour clouding his glasses.  
Was this really happening?!  
Oh god, it was!  
Oswald licked his own lips in preparation, eyes flickering as they began to close.  
But…no.  
He wanted Ed to kiss him. More than anything.  
But not like this.  
He wanted an ‘honest’ kiss, not one that could be denied as a bad judgement made under the influence! And he was not going to take advantage of Ed when he was vulnerable! When he was in pain!  
On a more practical note, he could not afford to make Ed suspicious. It would all be rather convenient. Isabella dies and all of a sudden Oswald confesses a secret attraction? No. It wasn’t the right time.  
All of these thoughts took less than two seconds to run through Oswald’s brain. It only took one more to turn his face away.  
As a result, Ed made contact with his cheek instead of his lips.  
The kiss was feather light. Oswald felt Ed’s breath on his cheek and savoured the warmth of the contact even as his eyes widened.  
Ed was kissing him.  
Ed was actually kissing him.  
Then, all too soon it was over.  
As Oswald saw Ed’s retreating face, he felt his stomach roil as he saw Ed’s expression.  
One of regret. The face of someone who has just made an awful mistake.  
Oswald did the only thing he could think of.  
Using both hands, he took hold of Ed’s face.  
He quickly kissed Ed first on the left cheek then on the right then patted one of his cheeks companionably. Jokingly. All in good fun.  
Nothing serious.

Ed offered no resistance: he was too shocked at what he had just tried to do.  
Ed’s encyclopaedic brain helpfully supplied the reference that males of certain European countries often employed what Oswald had done as a greeting or an expression of deep friendship or gratitude.  
Friendship. Not love.  
Ed gritted his teeth and his knuckles went as white as the rug beneath them as his fingers clenched.  
What was he doing?!  
He’d just tried to kiss Oswald! Out of the blue!  
What was wrong with him?!  
Damn alcohol!  
It was because he had pursued Isabella that she was dead now! Two innocent women. Two people he loved. Both his fault!  
And if something happened to Oswald because of him-

‘Ed, are you alright?’

Ed looked at Oswald. 

‘Sorry! That’s- that's a stupid question isn-isn’t it?’ Oswald asked, unsure how to respond to the strange intensity on Ed’s face.

‘Here's a question’, Ed said in an odd disconnected voice, ‘Why can’t I be happy?!’

‘That’s not-‘

Ed slamming a fist down on the floor interrupted Oswald’s uncertain response. He sat up, leaning his back against the wall, grabbing at his hair with clenched fingers.

‘The only answer I can think of is because of me!’ Ed shouted, ‘Kristen Kringle, Isabella…They’re both-they’re both dead because of me! I’m right aren’t I?! Ha! Now that's a stupid question! I’m always right!’

He gave a gasp and covered his face with both hands. He leant his hidden face on his bent knees. Oswald could see his back rising and falling shakily.

‘Not always’, Oswald said quietly, moving slowly to sit beside Ed against the wall.

‘Just, let’s just sit here for a bit okay?’ Ed said, his voice muffled by his hands, ‘Please? Nobody else?’

‘Okay Ed’, Oswald said soothingly, ‘Okay’.

As if Oswald’s words were some sort of codeword or permission, Ed suddenly burst into heaving sobs.

Oswald took Ed into his arms without hesitation.  
He felt alarmed to see Ed lose all control like this, moaning as he finally vented his grief but he also felt oddly privileged. Ed only wanted Oswald to see him like this.  
This made Oswald hold him tighter.

Ed latched onto the mantra Oswald was whispering, clinging to it desperately as he was swept up in the storm of his repressed emotions.

‘It’ll be okay. I promise. It’ll be okay’.

Then, Ed was latching onto Oswald, crying into his shoulder like a pathetic child. He hated how his tears were ruining the shoulder of Oswald’s suit but couldn’t bring himself to let go. Not of the only person who cared about him now. He was glad he couldn’t see Oswald’s face.  
He didn’t want to see the disappointment that was bound to be in his eyes!  
Self-loathing boiled amidst his grief: he was supposed to be stronger than this!

‘THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU IGNORE YOUR OWN ADVICE’.

Ed shook his head as his darker self’s voice emerged from the darkness of his mind. He tried to focus on Oswald gently rubbing his back consolingly but he couldn’t ignore his own inner demon.

‘AT LEAST WE KNOW NOW THAT HEARTBREAK ISN’T A ONE OFF THING. I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO DO. WHAT YOU WANT TO TELL HIM. BUT WE ALSO KNOW YOU CAN’T. NOT NOW. NOT LIKE THIS’.

Ed knew he was right.  
He was heartbroken.  
Not just because of Isabella.  
Because of how Oswald had looked at him when he had tried to kiss him a few moments ago.  
The shock in his eyes and the uncomfortable fumbling as Oswald had tried to downplay Ed’s transgression to save him embarrassment haunted him. Ed hoped the alcohol would banish the images in due course.  
It was true. Oswald really didn’t love him.  
Not the way that Ed loved Oswald.  
But he already knew that! Oswald would have said something by now!  
There had been plenty of chances!  
So if Ed already knew it was hopeless, had known it was hopeless, what had he been thinking trying to kiss him?!  
Answer: he hadn’t been thinking.  
He couldn’t risk losing Oswald by ruining their friendship with an ill-considered drunken confession. If he lost Oswald, he’d be alone.  
And he hated how much that bothered him! How much it hurt him!  
Especially after all his vaunted talk about how love was a weakness.  
He shouldn’t need anybody!  
But he _wanted_ Oswald!  
He didn’t care if Oswald didn’t want him!  
They were three one syllable words: I. Love. You.  
They were easy to say! _Should_ have been easy.  
And yet they were stuck in his throat like fishbones.  
He had to get them out!  
But, what if Oswald thought him ridiculous?! What if he laughed at him like everyone else did?! Like the other officers had when they had discovered he liked Kristen. Like Oswald had laughed at the man earlier that night with his phone number. The dismissive way Oswald had crumpled up that note without looking at it…  
And Isabella wasn’t even in the ground yet! How could Ed even think about being with Oswald when the whole point of being at the club was paying tribute to how happy she had made him?! Oswald would probably think he was a heartless bastard, able to switch affection from one person to another on a whim! Oswald might think Ed wasn’t thinking clearly because he was drunk (which was true)! Or think he was desperate for affection and not take him seriously, brushing off whatever declaration of love he chose to employ.  
The doubts and hideous truths gnawed through Ed’s rushing, hectic thoughts and finally tore away the cocktail of insidious alcoholic vapours clouding his brain.  
He'd kept his feelings for Oswald hidden this long.  
What was a bit longer between friends? Besides he might need Oswald while he pursued his revenge. Neither one of them could afford to be distracted.  
He needed time to think. To regroup.  
He couldn’t let his heart rule his head now. Especially when neither felt particularly fit for purpose at the moment.  
He would tell Oswald.  
He _would_.  
Just not while weeping, dishevelled and nauseous on the floor.  
This internal promise brought clarity back to his thoughts and he felt his sobs begin to abate as a result.  
‘Not now’ was not the same as ‘never’. He had to remember that. Hold onto it.  
That reminded him he was still literally holding onto Oswald.  
He inhaled deeply and slowly, reaching with one shaking hand for his handkerchief as he let go of Oswald. Ed wiped his eyes and nose. Even with his vision blurred from removing his glasses, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Oswald.

‘Looks like that’s been building for a while’, Oswald commented, ‘Feel better?’

‘I feel sick’, Ed replied, putting the now damp handkerchief away.

He replaced his glasses and felt overcome with gratitude to see Oswald smiling sympathetically at him. He just knew he also didn’t have the energy to return it.  
He also knew that Oswald knew.

‘I guess that means ‘party’s over’?’ Oswald asked lightly.

Ed nodded and they both (with concerted effort) got to their feet.

 

They emerged onto the street, the cold night hair hitting their faces like a slap.  
Oswald had called for the limo while inside and supported Ed under the arm as they walked the short distance to where it had pulled up on the corner.  
Ed had been sick on the white rug in the lounge as soon as he had stood up but Oswald considered a new rug a small price to pay if it spared his limo seats the same trauma.  
Better out than in and preferably not in a moving, enclosed space.

‘I didn't mean to ruin things’, Ed slurred as Oswald helped him into one of the back seats.

Oswald got in the other side and tapped the shadowed window ahead of him once he had checked both he and Ed had their seatbelts on.

‘You didn't Ed’, Oswald answered, ‘This night was for you. It was only meant to last as long as you wanted. Besides, we had better get home anyway. You need to get some rest. Planning revenge takes a lot of energy. Believe me I know’.

Ed nodded, leaning his forehead in one hand as he used the other to roll down his window.

‘I _swear_ I’m only going to ask one more time’, Oswald promised, watching carefully for signs Ed might need the limo to pull over, ‘Are you sure _I_ can't take care of Butch for you?’

‘I may need you to run some interference but I’ll have to do most of the work myself. I want to do it. Butch hurt me. I want to hurt him’.

‘What are you going to do to him?’ Oswald asked, excited by the hard edge to Ed’s voice as well as the devious sensation of having gotten away with Isabella’s murder.  
Ed was right.  
Not getting caught was a powerful stimulant.

‘I'm going to break his heart before I kill him’, Ed said darkly, eyes glittering with anticipation, ‘But I'm not the one who'll be pulling the trigger’.

Ed smiled as Oswald looked confused.

‘Intriguing isn’t it?’ he asked teasingly.

 _‘Almost flirtatious’_ , Oswald thought but just said, ‘I’m sure I’ll get the play by play in due course’.

Ed just smiled in confirmation before leaning back and closing his eyes.  
Oswald watched the breeze from the window ruffle Ed’s hair and his glasses briefly light up gold as they drove past street lights.

After a few moments of pleasant silence, Ed said quietly: ‘Poison has to be drawn from a wound before it can heal’.

He yawned and Oswald recognised from the lazy tilt of Ed’s head that he was falling asleep. 

‘Even after all this time, you’re still teaching me’, he concluded.

‘Glad I can help’, Oswald whispered.

He waited until he was sure Ed was asleep then shifted slightly over in the seat. His seatbelt prevented him from moving over completely but allowed him enough movement to lay his head on Ed’s shoulder. This way he could say he ‘accidentally’ ended up in that position when he fell asleep.  
Soon, thanks to the warmth and gentle rocking movement of the limo he didn’t need to pretend to be asleep.

At one point during their journey home, the limo hit a bump in the road. Ed briefly awoke and thought he felt the weight of Oswald’s head on his shoulder.  
He deliberately didn’t move or open his eyes.  
Despite his heavy head, he took Oswald’s earlier advice and locked away the memory just before he succumbed once more to slumber.  
Something to keep him warm at night.


	24. Retail Psychotherapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Another idea from a friend: 'Ed and Oz go shopping'. Enjoy!***

'Back again Mr Humboldt?’

Oswald smiled at the sales clerk as he approached them.  
Ed, confused by the misnomer, closed the door behind them. He cast a critical eye around the ‘establishment’. The building from the outside had appeared to be abandoned and yet Ed could see stocked shelves and mannequins on display showcasing the ‘eclectic’ goods on sale.  
When he had shown Oswald his ‘shopping list’ of items he required for his planned revenge on Butch now he had located him, he had expected them to spend the better part of a day traipsing around Gotham to various different stores to procure what he needed. He had almost thought Oswald was joking when he had cast his eye over the list and said they could get them all in one place.  
And yet, here they were.  
Surprised as he had been by the existence of such a place, he was less surprised that Oswald had chosen to use an alias when coming here.  
‘Stocks and Bondage’ was a relatively non-descript name but one idle glance at the products on sale made it clear what this place offered. They were not the sort of products that a major public figure such as a mayor could be openly connected with, even in Gotham, without courting scandal.

‘Yes but not for myself’, Oswald said, ‘I'm here for my associate, Mr Rees. He has a very particular project in mind’.

Ed smiled knowingly at Oswald’s choice of alias for him. 

‘I see, I see’, the salesman said, waving a hand invitingly, ‘Well, you know where everything is’.

Oswald nodded thankfully as the salesman retreated back to the pile of boxes he had been indexing as they had entered. Oswald indicated for Ed to move first and he did so, trying to identify pertinent sections. The merchandise seemed to have little categorization to it.  
He saw a large book nearby sitting on what seemed to be a replica of a Medieval rack. He flicked it open, expecting it to be a catalogue but found it was actually the ledger for specially made orders.  
As he flicked idly through the pages, several names caught his eye: Gunter Kowalski, Pen McGraw, William Adelie, Peter Humboldt…  
All names with one common theme.

‘So how long have you been shopping here?’ he asked Oswald.

‘A while’, Oswald said, eyeing a rack of riding crops.

‘The names in this ledger’, Ed smiled knowingly, closing it over, ‘As aliases they’re not very subtle’.

‘Most people aren't you’, Oswald shrugged.

‘True’, Ed agreed, ‘Do I need to use this ledger to place orders?’

‘Only the things they need to bring in from the warehouse. It's nothing custom is it?’

‘No, no, it’s just components I need’.

Ed reached into the inner pocket of his coat and produced a blueprint. He unfolded it and showed Oswald the detailed schematics he had laboured over.  
Oswald cast an eye over them. He didn’t understand the various mathematical equations scribbled over the paper but he understood the setup from the diagrams as well as the various notes Ed had made beside them.

‘Impressive’, Oswald said appraisingly.

‘That audible full stop suggests a ‘but’ at the end of the sentence’.

‘Just, this seems kind of _elaborate_. Even for you Ed. Don't you think you might be overdoing it? It's just Butch after all’.

‘Maybe’. 

‘I mean, what’s wrong with using something like this?’

Oswald pointed at a pair of stocks that were hanging from a chain attached to the ceiling.

‘I’m sure they do different sizes’, Oswald said, ‘It’s a classic punishment’.

‘It’s okay I suppose’, Ed admitted, tugging experimentally on the chains, ‘But, it’s just, I haven’t built a death trap in a really long time. Can't go getting 'rusty'’.

Ed grinned as Oswald rolled his eyes at the pun. Ed spun the stocks idly before moving on.

‘Butch may not appreciate it’, Ed admitted, ‘but I believe in always giving 100%. And _repaying_ 200%’.

Oswald held up a hand, smiling fondly at Ed’s enthusiasm.

‘You’ve convinced me’, he said, ‘So, what’s first on your list?’

Ed moved past him to where a selection of square blades were mounted on a wall. Guillotine blades.

‘What do you think?’ Ed asked, pointing out his choices, ‘Diamond edged blade or standard steel?’

‘Diamond adds a bit of glamour to the whole thing and’, Oswald’s eyes narrowed critically at the alternative blade, ‘the steel doesn't look a thing like it did in the catalogue. Doesn’t look like it could cut butter. Shame they don’t let you try these things out before you buy them’.

‘I like the diamond more anyway. Diamonds are ‘forever’ as well as cliché symbols of love, perfection and one of the strongest things on Earth’.

‘Diamond it is’, Oswald agreed, impressed as always with Ed’s consideration of detail as Ed marked the schematic with the relevant product number.

‘What about the wood? What were your choices for that?’ Oswald asked.

Ed chewed the end of his pen thoughtfully as he regarded the schematic.

‘I was thinking oak as an age old symbol of knowledge but I'm leaning more towards pine’.

‘Why’s that? Does that symbolise ‘love’ too?’

‘No. I just like the colour. Makes the blade stand out’.

He smiled self-consciously at Oswald shook his head in mock disappointment. 

‘Mundane I know but aesthetics are important too’, Ed said defensively, ‘Need some screws next’.

‘Are you really going to assemble all these things yourself?’ Oswald asked as Ed began moving boxes of screws to the cashpoint.

‘Yeah but some components are Swedish. No glue or anything required’, he replied, moving on to choose the leather restraints he needed. 

‘If you're giving 100% shouldn't you build everything from scratch?’ Oswald teased.

‘I'm not a caveman!’ Ed said, flicking one piece of leather through the air experimentally as if he were cracking a whip.  
Finding the noise a satisfactory indicator of its strength, he picked up every last one and deposited them on top of his growing pile of purchases. The sales clerk obligingly began to stack them for convenience.

‘Speaking of Neanderthals, how'd you find Butch anyway?’ Oswald asked.  
Seeing Ed needed no further help finding anything, he sat down in a nearby chair fitted with metal restraints to take the weight off his leg.

‘Neanderthal? Please’, Ed scoffed derisively, ‘He's barely cro-magnon. I found him the same way you always find big lumbering animals. Find their food source’.

Oswald watched for the next few minutes as Ed moved systematically through each aisle, taking what his schematic required. The separate components looked like nothing on their own: just a pile of junk. But the things Ed could do with them astounded Oswald.   
He thought Ed was more of an artist than a scientist, despite his logical brain and compulsion for order.  
When Oswald saw Ed fold the schematic away, he took it as a sign and stood up.

‘You need any extras? Wd40 for polishing the blade or anything?’

‘No’, Ed said after a moment of consideration, ‘I'm only going to use it once’.

‘Seems a shame to just throw it away afterwards’.

‘Can't afford to be sentimental’, Ed said, testing the timer he had chosen was functional by turning it until it made a sharp ringing noise, ‘Have to dispose of the evidence. Besides, once I use this one, I plan to improve the design for future use’.

He looked at the pile of items ready to be purchased with regret.

‘I could do so much more if I had more time but I can't risk losing Butch before I make my move. It's unlikely and I doubt he'd get very far but it's possible. So I'm forgoing the paint job and the ‘question and answer’ round I had planned for when I catch him’.

‘Well, if you’re worried about time, just get these delivered to the mansion. You can assemble it there. Saves us carrying boxes. Besides you've got enough stuff there for free delivery even if we use my coupon’.

‘This place gives out coupons?’ Ed asked in disbelief.

Oswald, after a brief rummage, produced one from his pocket and offered it to Ed. It read ‘50% off’. As Ed took it, he briefly wondered how many dollars worth of products Oswald had previously purchased to take advantage of such a generous discount.

‘If you complete their online survey’, Oswald nodded, ‘I've got more so don't worry about using it okay?’

‘Only in Gotham’, he mused, impressed by the standard of the printing used on the coupon.

At a nod from Oswald, the sales clerk began to ring up the items, packing them away in waiting bags and boxes.  
They left him to it, both not wishing to distract him from the lengthy process.  
Ed came up to stand beside Oswald who was looking at a row of collars and leads. There were various sizes and colours.

‘So, how often do you shop here?’ Ed asked.

Oswald fumbled and nearly dropped the green coloured, studded collar and associated lead he had been examining.  
He thought he had already dodged this bullet earlier! 

‘I browse mostly’, Oswald said, replacing the collar back on its hook.

‘For what?’ Ed probed, conscientiously looping the lead for the collar back over the hook.

‘For-well…it-it takes a lot of equipment to run a criminal empire’, Oswald said, trying to stop himself blushing, ‘Sometimes even I still have to get my hands dirty. I figure I may as well use quality… products’.

‘Like ball gags and scented candles?’ Ed teased gently, amused by Oswald’s embarrassment.

It was so endearing to see him blush like that! They were both adults after all.  
He had to admit he was intrigued at the idea of Oswald making use of the various items on display. Even after all the time they had spent together, he could still surprise him.  
When Oswald just rolled his eyes as an answer, Ed went up to a leather bound mannequin and flicked the feather boa around its neck. He pulled it off and in one deft motion wrapped it around Oswald’s. Oswald gaped as Ed tickled the end of his nose with the black feathers.

‘Suits you sir!’ he laughed.

As Oswald tried to extricate himself from the lengthy boa, Ed said, ‘I was going to say you should see about putting up a sign outside like they do in England. ‘By mayoral appointment’, etc. But I think the tabloids would have a field day’.

Oswald, having finally gotten the boa off, replaced it on the mannequin.

‘First rule of politics in Gotham’, he said haughtily trying to disguise how flustered he was, ‘You can do what you like. just don't get caught’.

‘Second rule: you can do _who_ you like’, Ed added, ‘Just don't get caught’.

Oswald laughed, a bit too giddily for it to be casual. As he pursed his lips shut tight to stop laughing, he prayed Ed hadn’t noticed. 

‘Is that everything?’ the sales clerk called, finally finished with Ed’s purchases.

‘Yes thank you’, Ed said, business like demeanour falling back into place as he handed over the coupon, ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Send me the bill’, Oswald interjected, ‘You have my details on file’.

‘You don’t have to do that!’, Ed cried, ‘I told you, I need to do this myself’.

‘Ed, you’re my friend’, Oswald replied, ‘Your problems are my problems. Now, I’ve agreed not to interfere once things get ‘interesting’ but I never said I wouldn’t help you prepare. So, instead of wasting time arguing, why don’t you head outside and I’ll fill out the order form?’

Ed, realising Oswald was not going to back down, just nodded and left.   
Oswald sighed. Ed didn’t need to know Oswald paying for his ‘revenge’ was one of the final stages of Oswald’s self-imposed ‘penance’. He felt no remorse for killing Isabella but he did feel sorry for how it had affected Ed. Once Butch was done away with, they could draw a line under the whole sordid ‘Isabella’ affair and move on with their lives.   
Their life.   
Together.  
Oswald’s hopes were buoyed further when he saw Ed pause on his way out and pick up a business card for the store.  
As the delicious thought crossed his mind that Ed’s actions could be a tantalizing indication of future events, Oswald filled out the required form for delivery.  
He couldn’t disguise the address but was confident the store would be discreet. It wouldn’t have been in business so long if it wasn’t. The sales clerk knew who he was (everyone in Gotham did) but aliases and fake IDs were a tradition of the business and as such, had to be honoured.

‘You two have fun’, the salesman said, winking as he took the pen back from Oswald.

‘Oh no!’ Oswald laughed breathlessly, ‘We-we're not-um-that is…’

He trailed off as he saw that the salesman, obviously well acquainted with such protestations from other customers, didn’t believe him.

‘Shame’, he said, ‘You look good together’.

Oswald, no idea how to respond to such a compliment, turned on his heel and left, blushing scarlet as he smiled to himself.


	25. Cross Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The last chapter before the next part of Season 3 airs. See you on the other side!***

It didn’t make sense.  
It was heartbreaking. Tragic. Sickening. Repulsive.  
But the worst part was that it _didn’t make sense!_

Ed continued to erratically pace around his bedroom, unable to focus on any single thought as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.  
They were spilling out from between his lips in an unceasing tirade of disjointed thoughts and venomous feelings.

‘I threw myself at him and he said _nothing_! He wasn't interested! I let him go, I try to move on and then he kills the only other chance I had at happiness because he was _jealous?!_ The bastard sat there and smiled while she was being pulled out of that wreckage! He _knew!_ He made me look so stupid! And weak! And-and I even read that stupid book he's going to be doing that award ceremony for! There's five hours I'm never getting back! For God’s sake I'm his friend! He saved me from Arkham! He saved me from Butch! If he cared about me, if-if he loved me then why would he do this to me?! Why-why would he _hurt me?!_ ’

 _‘Who would fall in love with a freak show like you?!’_  
Butch’s taunt emerged from the ether stopping Ed dead in his tracks.

‘Answer: a psychotic mob boss’, Ed replied robotically then gave a heaving groan, a combination of a sob and a laugh.  
He inhaled sharply, ignoring the tears flooding down his face. Had Oswald just been using him all this time?! Had all the kind words and gestures been a ruse?! 

‘But Barbara could be lying! Trying to drive us apart, weaken us in revenge for Tabitha. It’s logical. Just because he’s…in love with me doesn’t mean he killed Isabella. He didn’t say anything about that! There’s no proof!’

‘WHAT IF SHE ISN’T LYING?’

Ed threw himself down into his office chair and buried his head in his hands.  
His doppleganger, arms folded, watched coldly from the other side of the desk.  
Ed noticed he wasn’t in the mirror: it had been a long time since he had been able to manifest in the ‘real world’.

‘If she isn't then why would Oswald do this to me?!’ Ed yelled, angrily jabbing a finger at his double, ‘Why?!’

‘’WHY’ INDEED?’ the doppleganger shrugged.

Ed leant on his desk and gave a start when he saw the surface.  
It was littered with hundreds of sheets of paper spread haphazardly across the desk.  
Each one had one single word scrawled on it in spattered ink accompanied by thousands of different sized question marks.

‘WHY?’

Ed knew he had been the author of the deranged missives.  
He just didn’t remember doing it.

‘ALL QUESTIONS’, the doppleganger said ruefully, holding a page up for examination, ‘NO ANSWERS’. 

He let the page go and it fell to the floor like a dying leaf. The doppleganger stepped on it as he leant over the desk.

‘WE CAN’T HAVE THAT’, he said, head tilting as he regarded Ed coldly, ‘CAN WE?’

‘No we can't’, Ed replied.

‘HE KILLED HER BECAUSE HE WANTED US ALL TO HIMSELF. BECAUSE HE’S SELFISH AND SPITEFUL AND HAS MADE US DEPENDENT ON HIM. HE’S CAGED US EDDIE. MADE US HIS BITCH’.

Ed gritted his teeth.

‘IF _YOU’RE_ THIS ANGRY’, the doppleganger said, ‘IMAGINE HOW _I_ FEEL. THEN AGAIN, FOR ONCE, MAYBE YOU DON’T HAVE TO’.

Ed stood up and walked to the mirror. He mechanically adjusted his tie and fixed his hair. His doppleganger was not reflected in the surface but Ed could sense his presence and feel his breath as he whispered into his ear.

‘WHAT DO YOU THINK? UNDETECTABLE POISON? DEATH TRAP? OR SHALL WE JUST WRING HIS SCRAWNY LITTLE NECK?’

Ed waved a hand to dispel the disquieting sensation of ghostly fingers wrapping around his own neck then reached into his jacket.  
As he unfolded the object, he felt his doppleganger’s eyes light up in unison with the gleam on the blade.

‘AH. OUR ‘SPECIAL’ KNIFE. CRUEL IRONY: I LIKE THAT’.

Ed tucked it away again, feeling the weight of it against his heart as he hid it back inside his jacket.  
He made for the door.

‘REMEMBER EDDIE’.

He halted and turned on his heel. His doppleganger was perched cockily on the desk. Ed watched him mime a downwards motion with one closed fist.

‘IN THE BACK. SYMBOLIC: DON’T YOU THINK?’

‘Shut up’, Ed said emotionlessly, ‘I'll do this my way’.

‘LIKE WE DID THE FLIRTING YOUR WAY?’

Ed clenched his fists as the doppleganger held up its hands clasped together, as if pleading.

‘OH! PLEASE, _PLEASE_ NOTICE ME MR PENGUIN! I’M _EVER_ SO SMART!’

It scoffed and glared at Ed, playfulness forgotten.

‘PLEASE. IF I’D HAD MY WAY, HE WOULD HAVE HAD NO DOUBTS ABOUT HOW WE FELT. WE WOULD’VE JUST THROWN THE LITTLE BIRD DOWN ON A TABLE, RIPPED OFF HIS CLOTHES AND-‘

‘I know what you would have done!’ Ed snapped, ‘He would’ve hated us for it!’

‘YOU DON’T KNOW THAT’, the doppleganger said maliciously, licking its lips, ‘MAYBE OUR LITTLE BIRDIE LIKES IT ROUGH? YOU LIKE TO THINK SO. YOU LIKE TO IMAGINE. EVEN WHEN YOU WERE WITH ISABELLA, YOU HAD SUCH _DIRTY_ THOUGHTS ABOUT HIM. EVEN IF HE DID HATE IT AT FIRST, OH, HE WOULD’VE _LOVED IT_ AFTER WE REALLY GOT GOING’.

The doppleganger sighed.

‘IT WOULD’VE BEEN BEAUTIFUL! HIM GASPING AND MOANING OUR NAME! BEGGING US’.

It slammed a fist on the table, eyes fixed on Ed.  
Ed swallowed, trying not to show how much his doppleganger’s words were affecting him.

‘HE WOULD’VE SANG FOR US EDDIE!' it snarled, ‘NOW HE’LL BLEED INSTEAD’.

Ed blinked and the doppleganger vanished, its spite apparently exhausted. For now.  
Which just left Ed to do what needed to be done.

‘Bye bye birdie’, he hissed and headed in the direction of the stairs.

 

Oswald wasn’t hard to find.  
As Ed crept towards the music room, he could hear halting notes being played on the piano.  
He saw his dopplganger in the mirror on the wall beside him out of the corner of his eye.  
It was only when he was right outside the door that he realised Oswald was singing too. He peeked through the crack in the door and saw he was indeed hunched over the piano.  
He looked so small sitting there that it took Ed a moment to catch the lyrics of the song Oswald was quietly singing to himself.

‘I could hurt someone like me. Out of spite or jealousy. I don't steal and I don't lie but I can feel and I can cry. A fact I bet you never knew. But to cry in front of you? That's the worst thing...I...could...’

Oswald stopped singing as his voice cracked. Ed watched him slowly slide forwards as if crumpling in on himself.  
He was crying.

Ed knew the song. It was from the movie ‘Grease’.  
Oswald and he had watched it together when Oswald had been staying at his apartment. Ed had turned it on one night and Oswald ended up watching it with him, enjoying it despite the corniness of the plot.  
Why was Oswald singing that song?! He didn’t know Ed was there!  
The worse thing he could do. Really?!  
Not murdering the love of Ed’s life?!

 _‘Even though you’ve only known them for like…a week’._  
Ed shook his head as Oswald’s voice intruded into his thoughts. 

‘It’s getting too crowded in here’, he hissed.

‘EXACTLY! SO WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!’

Ed didn’t know. Nothing made sense anymore.  
But he couldn’t ignore a disquieting feeling that it was wrong to react so instinctively.  
This wasn’t his way! This was Barbara Keane’s way. 

‘What if we're wrong?’ he asked.

The doppleganger groaned harshly.

‘WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS ALREADY! WE’RE NEVER WRONG!’

‘We were wrong about Butch. Despite what she says, Barbara wants something. She wouldn’t tell me who killed Isabella just to do me a favour. Oswald never admitted anything’.

‘THEN WHY IS HE CRYING?!’

Ed thought of Oswald’s face when Ed had rejected his advances only two hours before.  
The look of utter hurt and crushing disappointment.  
He hadn’t come looking for Ed since then. Had he been sitting here alone for all that time?  
Ed was astonished to feel a fresh tear slide down his cheek.

‘Because he’s heartbroken’, he replied, wiping it hastily away.

‘GOD, YOU ARE PATHETIC!’ the doppleganger railed, ‘ANY EXCUSE NOT TO GET YOUR HANDS DIRTY! OSWALD’S NOT STUPID ENOUGH TO ADMIT WHAT HE DID! HE STILL COULD’VE KILLED ISABELLA!’

‘For the exact same reason we killed Officer Dougherty’.

‘IT IS _NOT_ THE SAME!’ the doppleganger snapped, angry at the insinuation ‘ISABELLA WAS INNOCENT’.

‘So was Miss Kringle. She died anyway’.

‘THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT! WE LOST CONTROL!’

‘Maybe he did too!’ Ed snapped before quickly lowering his voice, ‘Love makes people do horrific things! Terrible things that they can never take back! Whether you like it or not, we understand how Oswald felt if he did it! Don’t we?!’

The dopplegangers’ mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he gave a growl and threw up his arms in frustration. 

‘THIS IS RIDICULOUS!’

‘No. It makes total sense. Can't you see it?! Oswald and I. We’re the same’.

‘SO, YOU’RE A BLEEDING HEART AS WELL AS A COWARD! YOU’RE TELLING ME YOU CAN’T KILL HIM BECAUSE YOU FEEL _SORRY_ FOR HIM?!’

‘Who said we had to ‘kill’ him?’

The doppleganger’s eyes narrowed at Ed’s sudden calm, observational tone. 

‘SO YOU’RE JUST GOING TO DO NOTHING?’

‘I didn’t say that’.

Ed folded away the knife and turned on his heel, taking care to muffle his footsteps as he retreated back upstairs. 

‘There's still the chance Barbara is lying’, he extrapolated, ‘She's deranged. Just because Oswald in love with me doesn't mean he killed Isabella. Killing him won’t get us an answer and it won’t make us feel any better. It won’t send a message’.

As he passed by another long mirror, he looked at his reflection and was gratified to see his doppleganger’s eyes widen at his conviction. He was unused to Ed biting back. Ed thought he had better get used to it.

‘We can do better than that’, he asked and smiled with dark satisfaction as he saw the doppleganger speak the same words, ‘Can’t we?’

They were in agreement.  
Smile rapidly fading as he applied his brain to the formulation of an alternative plan, Ed folded away the knife. Inside the shadowed corners of his mind, he heard his doppleganger begin to laugh. No doubt he would be tempted again to use it to resolve the…’issue’ swiftly but he would persevere.  
He would wait.  
There was more than one way to skin a penguin.  
He just had to find the right one.


	26. Empty Nest

Ed poked his head cautiously around the front door of the manor, keeping an ear out for any ambient noises to indicate other people in the house.  
When he heard none and saw most of the lights were off despite the darkening evening, he realised the manor must be practically empty.  
But then why was the front door unlocked?  
He wasn’t worried about being seen by the various flunkies Oswald employed but he didn’t want them to report he had visited to Oswald or to run into the lord of the manor in person. It would be difficult to explain his presence and excuse his continued absence from the house.  
Ed didn’t want a scene.  
At least not yet and not one he hadn’t scripted.  
He eased into the house and closed the heavy door behind him gently.  
When he heard it click shut, he moved forward into the dark hallway.  
He had returned to the manor to collect some fresh clothes and do recon for his plans later that night. The plan was going swimmingly. Thanks to some purloined paperwork before he had snuck out of the mansion a few days earlier, Basil Karlo or ‘Clayface’ (as the more imaginative or crueller denizens of Arkham had dubbed him) had been quietly freed from Arkham on the authority of Mayor Cobblepot and released into Ed’s custody. Karlo had been more than grateful for the release and had leapt at the chance to use the abilities Strange had gifted him with but had voiced concern about performing the role Ed had assigned him. 

This led Ed to his first port of call: the breakfast room.  
He went inside and quickly located the bookshelf he needed. Reaching up, he took down a small photo album and extracted the photo required to help Karlo do his job. Ed examined it critically. It showed Oswald’s father Elijah a month before he died. He was standing beside Oswald’s stepmother which would provide a useful indicator of scale. Karlo had not had a chance to fully explore his abilities yet and had suggested that whilst replicating Elijah’s face would be easy once he had seen it (thanks to the hours of practice he had put in during his incarceration) he had not yet experimented with such bizarre alterations as attempting to change his height. Hence a reference photo was imperative.  
Ed tucked it into his coat and replaced the photo album back in its usual spot before leaving the breakfast room. On the way out, he noted an uneaten toast stack and an untouched glass of orange juice along with a vase of wilting flowers sitting on the breakfast table. 

He went back into the hall and saw from the flickering of light coming from the den that the fireplace was lit. So, he wasn’t completely alone then. As he neared the stairs however, he realised he had nothing to fear: his preparations before vacating the mansion had borne fruit.  
It had been an easy task for Ed to mix sedatives in with the sugar packets Oswald used in his tea before he left. He always took so much sugar Ed was surprised the spoon didn’t stand upright in the cup. Judging from the gentle snoring coming from the den, the pre-emptive tactic had proven effective and provided, Oswald did not vary his routine too much, Ed would be free to setup the more complex aspects of his plan in the mansion later that night and over the next few days unmolested.

As he made his way upstairs, he once again noted the stillness in the mansion. No guards or flunkies: even Olga hadn’t come to investigate the footsteps on the creaky stairs. Had Oswald really sent everyone away? 

He turned the corner leading to his bedroom and stooped down as he reached the door. Before he left, he had placed a pencil lead in the hinge. He had locked the door before he had left but there was a master set of keys secured in the kitchen in case of emergencies so Ed had added an extra, more subtle level of security. If anyone entered the room without his permission, the lead would snap and fall onto the carpet. It wouldn’t be noticed by the trespasser but would be a clear indicator to Ed that his privacy had been violated.  
He tested the doorknob and found it was still locked. He took out the key Oswald had given him and opened it. As he entered, he noted the lead fall out from the hinges and that the note he had left on the door informing Oswald of his absence was gone. He had decided against officially resigning. If Oswald was willing to continue to pay Ed's salary while he was 'grieving' who was Ed to contradict his employer's wishes? It added an extra level of delicious irony to the whole thing. But when he entered the bedroom and found it exactly as he left it, Ed was surprised to feel a small twinge of disappointment and shook his head to dispel it.

‘WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING?’ his doppelganger’s mocking voice asked, ‘HIM LYING ON YOUR BED CRYING INTO ONE OF YOUR SWEATERS?’

Ed shook his head harder and went to his wardrobe. He took the fresh clothing he had come to retrieve and packed it away into the suitcase he had brought. As he clicked it shut, he realised he hadn’t checked his phone that day.  
He took it from his coat pocket and checked it.  
Two new voice messages and three missed calls at varying intervals. All from Oswald.  
Ed raised an eyebrow.  
That was a sharp decline from the day before when Oswald had rung eleven times and left six messages and that in itself had been a drop from the day before that.  
Perhaps his mopey voicemail was starting to do the trick. Ed hadn't listened to any of the messages but judging from the length of the new ones, Oswald had stopped trying to appeal to Ed, hanging up as soon as he heard Ed’s voice message end. Ed had been tempted just for a moment to actually answer then burst a balloon close to the receiver to mimic a gunshot but now somehow it didn’t seem like such a funny idea.

‘DOESN’T HE GET THAT YOU’RE NOT GOING TO ANSWER? WHY LISTEN TO THE MESSAGE THEN HANG UP AFTER THE BEEP? DOES HE SERIOUSLY WANT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE THAT BADLY?!’

Ed clicked the phone shut and picked up the case. He gave the room one last glance to ensure he hadn’t left anything to betray his presence then walked out and locked the door behind him. He didn’t bother to replace the pencil lead.  
He called the taxi he had left idling at the end of the long drive leading to the mansion and instructed it to come up and collect him at the house. He had deliberately approached the mansion on foot to maintain the advantage of stealth. As he reached the bottom of the stairs and made for the front door, he caught sight of Oswald sleeping on the couch in the den.  
His grip on the suitcase tightened and he inhaled sharply, turning his head back towards the front door.  
His head swivelled back and forth for a few seconds as he remained stationary and after a minute, he sighed harshly and put the suitcase down.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’ his doppelganger demanded, ‘WE’RE DONE HERE! WHO CARES HOW HE’S DOING?!’

‘Need I remind you that we designed this based on pursuit predation?!’ Ed retorted, patience at his double’s intrusive outbursts exhausted, ‘He breaks down when we’ve planned him to. Not before!’

Oswald was curled up on the sofa, still in his suit from his meetings that day. Ed, remembering the untouched breakfast in the other room wondered if Oswald was eating without Olga there: when had he sent her away? He understood Oswald sending his heavies away: he disliked having underlings in the house unless holding a meeting and often dismissed them so he could have some peace and quiet. But why send Olga away?  
Her absence was already having a noticeable effect on the aesthetics of the mansion.  
Ed noted a few empty glasses sitting on the coffee table, the liquid stains indicating they had at least been sitting there overnight. He frowned as he also noted a near empty bottle of whiskey. There was a fire burning in the grate but it was dying and ash had spilled out onto the carpet.  
Oswald’s hand was dangling over the edge of the sofa and Ed saw he had dropped the cup he had been drinking from. He seemed to have passed out in the middle of his routine afternoon cup of tea.  
The cup was lying in a puddle of the remains of the now tepid liquid staining the rug.  
Ed picked the cup up from the floor and grimaced as he gave it an experimental sniff. Whisky was being drank from the same cup as the drugged tea. Oswald was drinking again. No wonder the drugs were proving so effective.  
He shivered as he felt a cool breeze and saw from the gentle billowing of the curtains that one of the windows was open. He tutted and walked over to it. He closed it and pulled the curtains shut.  
He heard his doppelganger tut in his head.

‘WE’RE GONE THREE DAYS AND SECURITY LITERALLY GOES OUT THE WINDOW. NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING (IT’LL MAKE COMING AND GOING MUCH EASIER) BUT HE DIDN’T EVEN LOCK THE FRONT DOOR!’

Ed didn’t reply to the doppelganger’s analysis.  
He knew why Oswald hadn’t locked the door. It was for the same reason Oswald seemed to have made a habit of sleeping on the couch.  
It was in case Ed came home.  
He looked back at Oswald’s somnolent form.  
Oswald had always been pale but now he looked wasted. The drugs Ed had spiked his sugar with knocked him out but did not provide a good, restful sleep. Just as Ed had planned. Lack of sleep led to disorientation, irritability and inattention. Just the condition he wanted Oswald in for his plans.  
Still, it was…disquieting to see him so helpless. So wan and vulnerable.  
And the drinking was a concern. Ed knew Oswald often indulged when he was stressed or upset but Ed hadn’t anticipated that his absence would cause Oswald to reach for the bottle so soon.

‘I SUPPOSE WE SHOULD BE FLATTERED HE THINKS SO MUCH OF US’, his doppelganger deadpanned from his manifestation in the mirror above the fireplace.

Ed ignored him once again, his eye attracted by Oswald’s diary acting as an impromptu coaster on the coffee table.  
Oswald must have taken it out of its usual place in his jacket pocket at some point during the day. Ed opened it and flicked over the engagements for the week. At least Oswald was still attempting to keep up appearances outside the manor: he saw various interviews and visits marked for the last few days had been ticked off accordingly. He narrowed his eyes however as he saw Oswald had put large ‘x’s’ through any engagement that took place at night or required ‘a plus one’.  
Ignoring the treacherous pang of sympathy that jabbed him at the sight, he turned the pages before settling on the schedule for the next day when Oswald’s numbers were due to be analysed and the findings presented at City Hall.

‘CONFIRMING TARQUIN WILL BE IN PLACE AS PLANNED TOMORROW. SMART’, his doppleganger commented as Ed traced the schedule with one finger.

He noted that Oswald had scribbled in to meet with the deputy chief of staff first thing that morning and nodded in confirmation at the time. He was due to meet Tarquin just before then to ‘give him some advice’. He trusted Tarquin not to say anything about their meeting to Oswald. He was a nice guy but far too ambitious to admit Ed was giving him pointers on how to become the ‘Chief of Staff’. It was almost a shame he would have to die. Then again, Ed reminded himself, that’s what pawns were for. You sacrificed them to get to an enemy king.

Ed snapped the diary shut but as he did so, noticed what appeared to be the corner of a loose page poking out of the back cover. He took it out and unfolded it.  
It was the note he had left on his bedroom door for Oswald.  
He re-read it:

_‘Oswald,_  
I need some time to think. To process everything that’s happened.  
I don’t know if I’ll be back.  
I leave you in Tarquin’s capable hands.  
Ed’. 

As Ed finished reading, he reflected on how Oswald seemed to have kept his position open even though Ed had made it clear in his note that he may not be returning.  
He had deliberately kept it detached, blunt and abstract. A complete contrast to his usual lengthy explanations. Another subtle hint to Oswald that things had changed between them. He had been especially proud of the ‘if’ in regards to his return.  
And yet Oswald was still keeping his job open.  
Then again Ed was probably reading too much into it. It had only been a few days after all.  
He began to fold the note away again when it caught the light and he realised writing had been added to the back of it.  
He flipped it over and recognised Oswald’s trailing script. Ed quickly identified it as an apologetic outpouring.

_‘Dear Ed,_  
You’re never going to see this but I’m sorry. For telling you I loved you. I’ve ruined everything. I don’t blame you for leaving. I would too. If I feel this bad, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now. But I’ll wait. As long as it takes. That’s why I’m writing this to myself.  
To remind me that’s it my fault you’re gone.  
And if- 

Ed saw the ‘if’ had been scratched out to be replaced with-

_‘WHEN you come back, I have to be better. I have to let you know that you’re my best friend too. And if that’s all you want, it’s enough for me.  
Love Oswald’_

Beneath the missive was a selection of drawings, too carefully positioned and sketched to be simple doodles. A penguin holding a question mark umbrella. Another looking up at a question mark above its head. And, at the corner a penguin in profile, leaning its head against a question mark facing it. The position penguins took when they mated. An abstract heart shape.  
Here and there the paper was stained with small pinpricks of what seemed to be water stains but Ed knew they were too small to be from a drink.  
Oswald had been crying when he wrote the note.

Ed swallowed and crumpled the note slowly with deliberate spitefulness.  
He glared at Oswald, still unconscious and blissfully ignorant of Ed’s presence.

 _‘Why?!’_ Ed thought savagely, _‘Why did I have to see this now?!’_

‘YOUR OWN FAULT FOR SNOOPING’, his doppelganger sniped, unrepentant, ‘WHAT’S THE MATTER EDDIE? HAVING SECOND THOUGHTS?’

Ed was about to give an angry reply but instead gave a single bitter laugh. He uncrumpled the paper. He sensed his doppelganger watching coolly as he smoothed it out before folding it neatly. 

‘No’, he replied, ‘Not second thoughts’.

He walked back to the hallway and picked up his suitcase as he tucked the note inside his jacket pocket.  
Just another little thing for Oswald to miss and subsequently fret over.  
Nodding approvingly at the timing as he heard a car sound its horn from outside (no doubt the taxi he had called) he opened the front door. There was no chance of Oswald hearing anything: he would be under until morning. Or something woke him up.  
Ed would have plenty of time to rendezvous with Karlo, outline the plans for the night while he practiced then come back to the mansion to set the stage. Then Oswald could be woken up and his waking nightmare could begin.  
Then, Ed would judge how 'sorry' he truly was.

‘SO WHY ARE YOU TAKING THE NOTE?’ his doppelganger pressed, obviously annoyed at Ed’s cryptic answer.

‘Reminding myself of what he threw away’, Ed muttered, locking the door behind him.


	27. Still Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***For the literal dozens of you on Tumblr who requested a 'regretful' Ed. Callbacks to Chapter 22 'Cross Your Heart'***

Ed closed the mansion door behind him and tried to hang his rain soaked coat on its usual hook. He missed. He didn’t notice and stepped on it as he walked into the house proper.  
His footsteps were loud on the hard surface of the floor and he quickly moved so he was treading on the carpet.  
He went to the small bathroom beside the staircase and locked himself inside.  
Turning on the taps, he regarded himself in the mirror as he pulled the light cord. He sighed heavily as he saw how pale he looked. He had been forced to pull over twice on the way back to the mansion from the docks. His mouth still felt awful from the vomiting.  
He turned the cold water tap and filled the sink basin as he took off his glasses. He felt the material of his shirt and waistcoat sticking to him, sweat staining his armpits and running down his neck. Once the basin was full, he splashed cold water on his face, gasping at the shock and shivering at the temperature. He scooped some into his mouth, sloshed it around and gargled. He spat it out into the basin and braced himself on the sink, both hands gripping the basin. He took deep, calming breaths, closing his eyes in a bid to clear his head.  
He opened them and saw Oswald’s submerged face looking up at him from the basin.  
Ed squeezed his eyes shut again and opened them as much as they could open.  
Oswald vanished, the memory dispelled by Ed’s focus.  
He pulled the plug chain and the basin drained.

He left the bathroom and headed for the den, keen to warm himself beside the fire.  
As he added an extra log to the hearth, he heard clicking footsteps. He turned and saw Olga on her way out, pulling on her plastic hood to protect her hair from the rain.

‘Get me a drink’, he barked.

Olga shrugged, her handbag slipping slightly off her shoulder as she eyed Ed’s tousled appearance distastefully.

‘I only work half day today’, she said.

Ed was gratified to see her eyes widen at the expression on his face.

‘I said: _get me a drink_ ’, Ed hissed.

Olga’s eyes flicked to the drinks cabinet but when he saw her eyes harden, Ed knew he was fated to be disappointed.

‘I hear you but Mr Penguin is my employer not you’, Olga sniffed, ‘He’s not here. You want drink? Bottle is right there on table’.

Ed was about to retort but was distracted by Olga’s pointing finger. Sure enough there was a bottle of champagne on the coffee table. Tied with a pink bow.  
Ed ignored Olga’s stroppy exit, instead picking up the bottle for a closer look.  
Pink wasn’t one of Oswald’s colours.  
Ed shook his head as he identified the buyer.  
Barbara.  
A token of appreciation no doubt.  
And useful for getting a rotten taste out of your mouth.

He went to the drinks cabinet and tutted at the lack of clean glasses. Oswald’s doing. He had been hitting the bottle pretty heavily the last few days. Reaching to the back, Ed found one lonely tumbler and prepared to pop the bottle.  
Then again….it was rather pointless wasn’t it?  
To celebrate victory alone.  
The circumstances made it borderline obscene. It wasn’t right to toast Isabella’s memory like this. The whole thing had been an ugly business. Not one Ed had enjoyed.  
He popped open the bottle but no longer had any desire to indulge.  
Drinking over the corpses of your enemies was barbaric.  
He poured the champagne into a nearby neglected looking potted plant reflecting on how the champagne was probably poisoned anyway. 

‘WHY CAN’T YOU JUST ENJOY THINGS?’ came a voice from behind Ed.

He knew where his doppelganger was without turning around. It was lounging in the sofa beside the fire, frustrated (as usual) with Ed’s perceived ‘shortcomings’. In this case unwillingness to indulge in vulgar grandstanding in an empty room.

‘SO PENGUIN DIDN’T CONFORM EXACTLY TO THE BEHAVIOURAL PARAMETERS WE ANTICIPATED’, the doppelganger shrugged, ‘SELFISH TO THE END I GUESS’.

Ed didn’t look at him, feigning interest in the champagne label.

‘He wasn't though was he?’ he said, ‘He was willing to die rather than give me up'. 

His doppelganger gave a disgusted groan.

‘HE PROBABLY FIGURED OUT OUR PLAN AND WAS JUST TRYING TO SAVE HIS OWN NECK BY LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH. AS USUAL. OR HE WAS DOING IT OUT OF SPITE; THROWING A SPANNER IN THE WORKS BY PRETENDING TO HAVE SOME BIG DRAMATIC REALIZATION JUST TO PROVE US WRONG!’

‘He didn't figure anything else out’.

‘MORE FOOL HIM. BOO HOO. ANYWHOO, WHO CARES?! WE AVENGED ISABELLA! THE PLAN WORKED PERFECTLY! WE'RE NOT EVEN UPSET AT NOT GETTING A PERFECT SCORE!’

‘And here we are’, Ed said.

 _‘Alone, unhappy and exhausted’_ , he thought.

His doppelganger, ignorant or (more likely) ignoring Ed’s fatigue, continued crowing.

‘EXACTLY! FINALLY FREE TO DO WHATEVER WE WANT! TO BE WHOEVER WE WANT! NOW WE’RE OUT FROM UNDER HIS UMBRELLA, IT’S TIME TO SPREAD OUR OWN WINGS!’

‘Are you finished? Funny how you always insist on telling me things I already know’.

‘TELL ME SOMETHING I DON’T KNOW THEN: WHY DID YOU CHANGE THE PLAN?’

Ed turned at the threatening tone of his doppelganger’s voice. The fact it was imaginary and a reflection of his own voice somehow made it no less menacing. Was that tone the one he had used on Oswald mere hours ago?

‘WE AGREED TO SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD’ his doppelganger concluded.

‘I thought the stomach would be more painful’.

‘BUT NOT INSTANT’.

‘Since when have we been concerned with instant gratification?’

His doppelganger would not be distracted by Ed’s deflection.

‘THE PLAN WAS TO SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD THEN TIE HIS BODY TO THE TRAIN TRACKS’.

‘Too exposed and the Gotham train schedule can be erratic’, Ed explained, ‘Exposure to the water will accelerate hypothermia, shock and will ensure evidence is not found. He'll feel pain, cold, numb then nothing at all. Just like me’.

His jaw tightened as he heard his doppelganger give a round of mocking applause.

‘WELL REASONED. POETIC AND PRACTICAL. BUT, UM, I THINK YOU ARE FORGETTING ONE LITTLE, TINY, MINISCULE, INSIGNIFICANT-‘

‘Are you just going to list synonyms at me or-‘ Ed began but flinched as his doppelganger suddenly materialised right in front of him.

‘MY POINT IS THAT PENGUINS _SWIM!_ AND THIS PARTICULAR PENGUIN SEEMS TO GET STRONGER EVERY TIME HE ALMOST DIES!’

Ed pushed past him and went to the fireplace. He looked into the hearth, trying to will the heat from the flames into his shaking hands as they gripped the champagne bottle.

‘YOU HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN’, his doppelganger said, dawning realization obvious, ‘IT’S WHAT YOU’RE HOPING FOR ISN’T IT? FOR HIS BLOATED CORPSE TO CLIMB OUT OF THAT RIVER AND TO COME CRAWLING BACK HERE BEGGING FOR ANOTHER CHANCE! AND YOU’D GIVE IT TO HIM LIKE THE WORM YOU ARE! EVEN AFTER EVERYTHING HE DID, YOU STILL CARE!’

‘If I cared would I have shot him?’ Ed asked lightly, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart.

‘YOU CARED ABOUT KRISTEN. SHE STILL ENDED UP DEAD’.

‘This time wasn't an accident’, Ed replied, fingers subconsciously wrapping tighter around the bottle, ‘And I didn’t…feel…like I did with Kristen’.

‘YOU LOOKED PREEEETTY SHOCKED WHEN YOU PULLED THAT TRIGGER’.

Ed didn’t reply.  
If he didn’t say anything, his illusory twin would go away. The whole reason he continued to appear is because Ed indulged him. Because he allowed this hallucinogenic farce to continue.

‘SLASH THE PAINTING’.

Ed dropped the bottle. It rolled away from him as he looked at the painting still sitting on the easel in the corner. He and Oswald smiled from within the canvas, immortalised.  
He was shocked to feel a new weight in his hand and realised he was holding his knife. When had he taken it from his pocket?!

‘Why?’ Ed asked, genuinely confused at the unexpected order and unable to ignore the venomous words dripping into his ears.

‘YOU ALREADY KILLED HIM ONCE. NOW YOU’RE GOING TO BALK AT GUTTING A PICTURE OF HIM?’

‘It's an inanimate object!’ Ed snapped, ‘Destroying it doesn't prove anything!’

He threw the knife away. It slid to a halt beside the fire, the exposed blade flickering yellow as it reflected the flames.  
Ed stared down his double who met his bared teeth with a sadistic grin.

‘YOU KNOW OSWALD WAS WRONG ABOUT YOU?’ he asked tauntingly, ‘YOU WEREN’T A NERVOUS JITTERY LITTLE NOTHING: YOU’RE _STILL_ A NERVOUS JITTERY LITTLE NOTHING WHO NEEDS A PROJECTION OF IMPULSE TO TEACH HIM HOW TO BE A REAL MAN! WE WOULD’VE BEEN BETTER OFF LEAVING HIM TO DIE IN THOSE WOODS OR IF HE’D LEFT YOU TO ROT IN THE LOONY BIN WHERE YOU BELONG! BECAUSE YOU’RE AN IDIOT EDDIE: WHY ELSE WOULD YOU CARE MORE ABOUT SOME SNIVELLING LITTLE FAGGOT THAN-‘

The gunshot rang out like a thunderclap.  
Ed watched coldly as his doppelganger spasmed and fell, a fresh bullet wound in his head. His eyes rolled back as he faded, his incorporeal form dissolving like mist in sunlight. Behind where he had been standing, a bullet sat in its new resting place in the cracked plaster of the wall.

‘How's that for a 'projection of impulse'?’ Ed said with the barest hint of satisfaction as he lowered the gun.

‘I thought he'd never leave’, a quiet voice commented approvingly. 

Ed knew the voice instantly but turned around slowly anyway.  
Oswald was sitting on the sofa beside the fire, water dripping from his sodden clothes. His eyes were milky and his skin was the colour of curdle milk, his hands, resting on his lap dripped blood from where they had touched the raw, gaping wound in his stomach.

‘Glad to see you know you don't need him anymore’, Oswald continued, water bubbling past his lips and dribbling down his chin. 

‘For evolution to happen, certain atavistic traits need to be discarded’, Ed said then swiftly redirected the gun.

He pulled the trigger and the bullet passed through Oswald. Feathers flew as it impacted one of the throw pillows Oswald’s back was supposedly lying against.

‘Like imaginary friends’, Ed concluded, putting the gun away, satisfied by Oswald’s non-corporeal state.

‘An imaginary friend is better than none right?’ Oswald asked, then waggled his fingers, ‘Unless I'm a ghost?’ 

‘Ghosts aren't real’, Ed said dismissively, examining his mind’s representation of Oswald, impressed despite himself, ‘Remember?’

It was amazing how much attention his brain paid to detail when it came to his hallucinations. There was even a growing wet patch on the sofa and carpet where the water from Oswald’s clothes made contact.  
Even the way Oswald rolled his eyes was spot on.

‘Ed, you see so many ghosts Kristen and I could form a support group’.

Ed knelt down and touched the puddle with one fingertip. The carpet was bone dry. Because of course it was. Ed felt idiotic for checking. 

‘Like her’, he said, straightening, ‘you are just another figment of my masochistic brain. Here to try and guilt trip me no doubt’. 

‘Are you really sure about that?’ Oswald asked, before leaning back, deliberately exposing his raw glistening wound, ‘You want to have a rummage around to make sure?’

Ed clicked his tongue dismissively, trying to ignore the sickening smell of blood and offal he thought he had experienced when Oswald had shown his stomach wound. He felt his own stomach begin to roil again as he headed for the stairs.  
So many hallucinations in one night definitely meant he was tired. He needed to recharge.  
As he passed the top landing, he ignored Oswald straddling the banister to his right like a child preparing to slide down.

‘If it makes you feel better, think of me as more of a reminder’, Oswald offered as he passed.

‘Of all the pain you caused?’ Ed laughed bitterly, ‘Oh, don’t you worry! I'll be carrying that for a while’.

He reached out as if to push Oswald but he blinked and Oswald vanished. His outstretched fingers formed into a fist. It had been just like that at the docks. The lightest push and Oswald had vanished.

‘But why bother carrying it if you've got your revenge?’ Oswald’s voice echoed from above him, ‘I'm not here to remind you of that’.

‘Then why?!’ Ed demanded, his patience fraying.

He nearly jumped when Oswald suddenly walked out of a room ahead of him. Oswald smirked at Ed’s discomfort even as Ed stalked past him.

‘You tell me’, Oswald said, following, ‘I'm part of you don't forget’.

‘Can’t have one without the other’, Ed quoted, ‘That’s what you said to me’.

‘Don’t have much choice now do you?’ Oswald replied, following Ed, ‘Dangerous to swim in such deep waters alone. If you don't need me, then why am I here?’

Ed entered his bedroom and looked out of the window. It was still raining. Dull grey clouds over a lifeless looking landscape stared back through the glass.  
He sensed Oswald standing beside him.  
Ed saw he wasn’t reflected in the window glass and as he placed a hand on the cold surface, no wet outline of his fingers or palm appeared.

‘You're a reminder that you…’

Ed cleared his throat, mentally reminding himself it wasn’t really Oswald beside him. It bothered him that he felt the need to do so.

‘That _he_ loved me’, Ed finished quietly.

Oswald gave a solemn nod in agreement.

‘Even after everything you did’, Oswald mused, ‘And you loved me but you couldn't admit it. Your pride wouldn't let you. Even though you always wanted to. I'm a reminder that you failed Edward Nygma. A reminder that Oswald Cobblepot, like love, is the one riddle you will never solve’. 

Oswald’s calm, matter of fact tone only riled Ed up.

‘You used to say that 'once you know what a man loves you know what can kill him'’, he said, glaring at Oswald, ‘How did it feel? Being so right?’

Oswald was unperturbed by Ed’s spiteful jab. He didn’t even look at him.

‘The same way you must feel for being so wrong’, he said, sadness creeping into his words, ‘ _You_ said 'love was a weakness'. But look what it did to us. What it's doing to you right now’.

Ed rolled his eyes and pulled his waistcoat off, unceremoniously throwing it onto the bed.

‘Listen, it's kind of you to be so concerned’, he said sarcastically, ‘coming all the way from the darkest corners of my psyche and all-‘

‘But I'm ‘kind of freaking you out?’’ Oswald interrupted, turning to face him, sardonic smile on his clammy face, ‘Deja vu. Except looks like this time you're throwing me out of my own house’.

Ed advanced on Oswald and jabbed a finger at his beak like nose.

‘What I did today was right!’ he hissed, ‘You deserved _everything_ you got! My only regret about this whole thing is I could only kill you once!’

He ignored Oswald’s eyes darting around the room as Ed’s raised voice echoed around the empty house.

‘I shot you, I pushed you into that water and I didn't bat an eye! I threw your father into a dumpster and laughed about it! I worked with your enemies to bring you down! I destroyed you! You lost everything and I got everything I wanted!’

He inhaled deeply, teeth gritted as the air hissed past them. 

‘Then why are you crying?’ Oswald asked simply.

Ed reached up with a shaking hand but he already knew Oswald was telling the truth. He could feel the falling tears chilling on his cheeks. He threw his glasses onto the bed beside his discarded waistcoat and groaning, covered his face with both hands. He didn’t want to look at Oswald: he was too distracted by the answers to his question beating at the inside of his skull.

_Because you didn't expect it. Right until the end you didn't think I'd do it. You weren't even angry! You didn't fight for your life! You didn't try to grab the gun! You just stood there and-and the look on your face when I pulled the trigger..._

‘It's like that song you used for my ringtone’, Oswald said before starting to sing forlornly, ‘You had your way. Now you must pay. I’m glad that you're sorry-'

Ed threw a punch at Oswald and swore as his fist made contact with the cast iron lattice on the window. He glared at Oswald, dishevelled with bared teeth and reddened eyes glistening.

‘I'm. Not. Sorry’, he growled.

Oswald watched Ed impassively as he straightened, determinedly lowering his damaged, still clenched fist to his side. He looked down at Oswald, fixing his rational, expressionless mask securely back into place.

‘Then let's hope you really did kill me’, Oswald breathed.

Ed watched him rise onto his tiptoes (an action the real Oswald had always found difficult because of his knee) but did not step back even as Oswald’s face neared his own.  
He felt no breath as Oswald kissed him on the lips or any mortal material from the gloved hand stroking his cheek. He allowed it. What was the harm? It wasn’t real anyway.  
He didn’t realise he had closed his eyes until he heard Oswald speak. He opened his eyes to find Oswald’s pale eyes staring deep into his own. 

‘Because you know if you didn't, you soon will be’, Oswald finished, withdrawing his hand.

Ed blinked hard once to dispel fresh moisture from his eyes and when he opened them, Oswald was gone. Retreating back into the dark of his psyche.

‘See you later Ed’, Oswald’s voice whispered in his ear.

Ed looked around his darkened bedroom, searching for any other intrusive phantoms come to haunt him but none materialised.  
He was alone.

‘I'll be waiting’, he promised, feeling blood from his wounded knuckles drip between his closed, cold fingers.


	28. Never Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***From a prompt by Bizarre Transmission who wanted Ed and Oz watching 'Titanic' together. Hope you enjoy!***

‘I’m home!’ Ed called, closing the door behind him.

The sound of something being knocked over and hitting the floor drew his attention to the couch.  
Oswald was reaching down to retrieve the remote control he had dropped.  
Ed heard a very familiar theme song playing from the TV even if he didn’t recognise the actual scene of the film Oswald was watching.

‘Is that-?’ he began to ask but Oswald cut him off.

‘It’s the only thing on!’ he said defensively.

Ed stifled a laugh at Oswald’s standoffish demeanour. He had obviously dropped the TV remote out of surprise at Ed’s earlier than expected arrival home from work.  
Ed held up his hands placatingly as he began to take off his coat.

‘It’s okay’, he laughed, ‘Watch whatever you want. I won’t tell. Promise’.

Oswald visibly settled down a little at that. Ed found it endearing how self-conscious he was as well as a tad amusing. Ed had seen him naked but Oswald was embarrassed for Ed catching him watching _‘Titanic’_? Ed understood though: the film didn’t really fit Oswald’s ‘mob boss’ persona he worked hard to cultivate.

‘I’m not above murdering witnesses you know’, Oswald said, moving over slightly as Ed sat beside him.

Ed’s smile widened. There it was. The required threat veiled as a joke to ensure Ed’s co-operation. He liked how he was getting so good at reading Oswald. He was definitely well on the way to recovery if he was back to making threats instead of moping.

‘You know I’ve never seen _‘Titanic?’_ ’ Ed commented, keen to witness Oswald’s entertaining reaction to the romantic film first hand, ‘Mind if I join you?’

Oswald shook his head.  
He hadn’t expected Ed to want to watch with him. Oswald had always gone to the theatre or watched movies home alone. Except of course for the old movies his mother had enjoyed: they had always watched those together. It would be interesting to get someone else’s opinion of the film.

‘Just a warning though’, Oswald said with mock gravity, ‘The ship sinks’.

‘You don’t say’, Ed laughed, settling down to watch, ‘Thanks, that could have been a shock’.

***  
‘How can they be in love after only a few hours?!' Ed scoffed, 'It's ridiculous'.

'You’ve never heard of ‘love at first sight?’' 

'Yes: it doesn't exist. It’s a fantasy’. 

'…You do know what a movie is right?’  
***

***  
‘I would not like to be the owner of that car’.

‘But it had a naked Kate Winslet in it’.

‘She’s not my type’, Oswald shrugged.  
***

***  
‘Seems like there's plenty of room on that board’.

‘Hmm’.

‘And she doesn't weigh very much’. 

‘Hmm’.

‘If the concern is buoyancy, why not take turns floating? Though I suppose there is the issue of fatigue clambering on and off it’.

‘You’re supposed to watch the movie, not analyse it', Oswald chided lightly.

‘It doesn’t need any analyzing. The errors and plotholes practically leap out of the screen'.

‘Like what?’

‘Mr DiCaprio there isn’t elderly or in ill health and he’s not moving which (contrary to popular belief) would’ve slowed heat loss so I’d give him about an hour to live but from the way he’s talking he’ll be dead in a few minutes’.

‘Is that all?’

‘if Rose had stayed in that lifeboat, Jack would’ve found this door himself and been able to float on it, that charcoal sketch would not have survived all that time in that pristine condition, the stars in the sky are mirrored, she nearly cut off his wrist with that axe earlier, when the ship is slanted the lifeboats are still hanging straight down, DiCaprio’s hairstyle keeps changing from shot to shot and I think I saw a camera reflected in a door’.

Ed felt a surge of satisfaction as he saw Oswald process the list he had just provided. That wasn’t even everything he had noticed!

'You really can't switch your brain off can you?' Oswald asked, defeat in his voice.

Ed shook his head before adding: ‘Also, did you know that according to some tribal cultures, drowning apparently prevents the soul from rising to heaven?' 

‘That’s one thing the film got right’.

‘What?’

‘How being submerged in cold water feels. Now shush!’

Ed was taken aback despite Oswald’s calm tone as he held up a finger as a physical command for silence. He had forgotten Oswald’s swim through Gotham Bay when Gordon had spared his life.  
Apart from his mother, would anybody have even cared if he was gone? If Gordon had pulled that trigger, The Penguin would’ve just faded away. Just one more set of bleached bones in Gotham Bay. Despite his slight, wasted frame, Oswald had swam the whole thing. With a ruined knee no less! Then risen from the depths all the way to the King of Gotham. It was astounding. Nothing seemed to extinguish the fire in Oswald Cobblepot. Anytime his fire dimmed, it just seemed to come back stronger!

A conspicuous and familiar sniff caught Ed’s attention.  
Looking back at the screen Ed realised Leo had finally sunk like the boat. He thought briefly about how the little speech he had been giving about babies and such had probably hastened his demise but his heart was no longer in it. What he cared about was Oswald’s reaction to it.

'Are…are you crying?' Ed asked.

Logic told him he was being somewhat tactless but he utterly lost at how to react in such a situation. Oswald had not cried properly in front of him. He had always hid under his covers or buried it beneath anger or cynicism.  
Oswald shook his head vigorously but Ed could see the telltale signs: the hunched shoulders, the tight lip and the way Oswald defiantly raised his head despite his eyes obviously watering.  
Ed reached for a nearby box of Kleenex and offered a tissue to Oswald.

‘For your allergies’, he said.

Oswald nodded gratefully and took one.

‘Thank you’ he said in a choked sounding voice, grateful for the excuse Ed had provided, no matter how pathetic it was.

They watched to the end of the movie in silence.  
Oswald began to weep quietly again when the elderly Rose dreamt of being reunited with Jack.  
Ed didn’t but he felt a disquiet at his earlier flippant attitude towards the film.  
He had approached it all wrong. The film wasn’t about technical or historical accuracies. It was a love story. What mattered was how it made you feel.  
And it obviously spoke to Oswald in a way that was alien to Ed.  
Perhaps it was comforting for Oswald to think about his mother in the afterlife like the characters on screen, happy and smiling.  
Ed hadn’t enjoyed the movie but it had made a cold blooded killer like The Penguin cry openly in front of him. He had finally let his guard down and allowed himself to be human.  
Ed felt privileged to have witnessed it.

‘Let me guess. You didn’t enjoy it’, Oswald asked once the credits started rolling and he had regained his composure.

‘It was…worth watching’, Ed said, ‘And I’m sorry’.

‘For what?’ Oswald asked, puzzlement in his reddened eyes.

‘Very often I… I say things without thinking’, Ed elaborated, ‘I wasn’t trying to ruin something you enjoy. I just-‘

Oswald, to Ed’s surprise (and annoyance) burst out laughing. Ed let him laugh but frowned when Oswald started anew when he saw Ed’s expression.

‘It'd take a lot more than some sarcastic (and totally valid) quips from you to ruin this for me Ed!’ Oswald guffawed, tears streaming down his face again, ‘You think James Cameron cares what you think when he’s sleeping on that pile of money every night?!' 

'Ed'. 

'What?' Oswald asked, wiping his eyes with the Kleenex.

‘You just called me ‘Ed', Ed said softly, ‘Only my fr…work colleagues call me ‘Ed’’.

‘Well we’re far more than work colleagues aren’t we?’ Oswald asked, ‘We’re practically roommates right now. Unless it makes you uncomfortable?’

‘No! No! Please, Ed is fine. It’s-it’s great!’ Ed beamed.

‘Far more than work colleagues’ Oswald had said! They were equals?! Really?!

‘Good’, Oswald said, ‘I can't keep you at arm's length anymore now you've discovered my secret'. 

‘That you're a complete wuss when it comes to mushy movies?' 

‘Don’t push your luck’, Oswald warned teasingly, ‘I was going to say I’m a romantic'.

‘Both good things to know’. 

‘Speaking of potential blackmail, do you have any guilty pleasures? Aside from casual homicide?' 

‘Well, there is one’, Ed smiled self-consciously.

‘I’ve showed you mine’, Oswald said, ‘And friends shouldn’t have secrets’.

Ed’s heart leapt at the word ‘friends’. 

‘Okay then!’ Ed said enthusiastically, ‘Have you ever seen _‘Grease’_?' 

 

Ed’s eyes flicked open and he cursed as he felt moisture on his cheeks.  
He sat up, pushing away the sweat soaked bedsheets in irritation. He ran both hands up over his face and through his damp hair. The bedroom was dark and quiet, the only sound was the occasional creak of the mansion at rest.  
He looked up and took a deep, calming breath. He knew the hallucination was already in the room with him. He could sense it, a vision of horror hovering above his head.  
He felt a tightness in his chest as instead of his bedroom ceiling he was greeted with the usual night time vision. Oswald stared down at him, a reverse image of him sinking all over again. Ed fancied he could see the surface of the water reflected on his bedsheets. He could smell the strange ozone like smell of the bay and the discharge from his pistol. Freshly fired.  
He could hear that splash of Oswald hitting the water.  
He saw him fade away into the surface of the ceiling this time instead of being swallowed by the icy murk and blood rising to the surface. It had been four days and Oswald was still reaching for him. Every time he closed his eyes, there he was.  
Every night the same dream.  
Ed rubbed the tears from his eyes.  
The act had taken an instant. Ed hadn’t expected it to stay with him.  
Logically it shouldn’t have. What was one more corpse to a murderer?  
A dead body was harmless.  
It couldn’t hurt anyone.  
But it could haunt someone.  
Still, Ed hadn’t expected Oswald, a person who had deserved his watery grave, to haunt him.  
Nor the memories of the kind acts and happier times with Oswald to hurt so badly.

‘Why won’t you let me go?’ he whispered, hating how cold the room felt as the darkness of the empty house closed in around him.


	29. Unfinished Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Requested by @bispergirl on Tumblr. Enjoy!***

Ed didn’t know where he was going but his fingers tapped on the wheel impatiently anyway as he waited for the traffic lights to change to green.  
He would apologise to Olga later.  
Despite the woman’s frosty demeanour towards him, she always conducted herself as a professional. It wasn’t right to storm out of the house in a huff just because he didn’t want what she had cooked for him. The food was fine of course, she was an accomplished chef but she always cooked too much! There had easily been enough dinner for two people!   
For some reason that had riled Ed up and he had left without eating any of it, snapping at Olga to throw it away.   
He had decided to go for a drive to get some air and away from the mansion for a bit but he had realised as he entered Gotham City proper, he had no destination in mind.   
That wasn’t like him.  
Seeing the signal change, Ed put the car in gear and drove on.  
He yawned.  
He hadn’t been sleeping well and it was starting to take its toll. It explained the irritability and lack of focus. Not to mention the hallucinations. Thankfully Oswald’s drowned spectre appeared to be giving him some space for the moment but Ed had no doubt he would reappear soon.  
Thinking of Oswald suddenly gave him an idea.  
It had been a long time since he had enjoyed some Chinese food.

 

He got out of the car and rubbed his hands together to warm them up.  
He had parked in front of his old apartment and felt a strange sadness to see the lights were on. It was true: you couldn’t go home again. He shouldn’t have felt anything: the apartment held a lot of bad memories but he had enjoyed some happiness there too.  
Happiness he could never recapture.  
He focused on his food, trying to decide what to order as he walked around the corner to his favourite Chinese takeout place. Maybe some deliciously contrary sweet and sour? Or maybe some salted chilli king prawn for a change?  
It had been Oswald’s favo-

He physically shook his head.  
If he didn’t think about him, he wouldn’t appear. Wasn’t that how it worked?  
He gritted his teeth.  
This was ridiculous! He was not afraid of hallucinations or ghosts!  
But…that hadn’t stopped him from researching ghosts when he had first had trouble sleeping, when his dreams had started to be haunted by Oswald reaching from him from a watery grave and appearing to him as a vivid manifestation.  
It was probably the lack of sleep that was making him behave so irrationally. Ghosts weren’t real! He knew that!   
But Ed knew he didn’t have the strongest grasp on reality and his exhaustion was obviously exacerbating his existing ‘issues’. Ghosts weren’t real to normal people but based on Ed’s personal experience, they could be more real than actual people to him.  
In the end it was better safe than sorry.

He passed the alley that contained the Chinese restaurants dumpsters and was struck by a sudden longing.   
Trash day hadn’t passed yet.  
He made a hasty diversion down the alley after a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear. He went to the furthest dumpster and lifted the lid. The stench from the dumpster was no deterrent to someone used to dealing with dead bodies, both fresh and less so. Which was just as well.  
Ed pulled some cardboard out of the way and quickly located the black duffel bag he had hidden a few days ago.

‘Hello Elijah’, he said, patting the bag, ‘Still comfy?’

He closed the dumpster and turned to leave the alley but stopped in his tracks.  
Maybe…maybe it was his treatment of his father that was causing Oswald to appear? Ed had designed it to be the most savage aspect of his retribution against Oswald. Maybe Oswald couldn’t rest in peace without his father doing the same?

 _‘You are being ridiculous’_ , he snapped, _‘Oswald is not a ghost. You’re just stressed. That’s all. Got a lot to plan. Brain’s just playing tricks on you!’_

He rubbed his tired eyes.  
Better safe than sorry.  
He nodded.  
Yes. That was logical.  
He went back to the dumpster and yanked the duffle bag out. He carried it back to his car, moving as fast as the bulky load would allow. He popped the trunk and threw the bag inside, pulling off his soiled gloves and throwing them in on top of it before slamming it closed.  
He took a deep breath before resuming his original route to the Chinese restaurant. He already had a plan to dispose of his new grisly cargo.  
But his stomach demanded attention first.

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a finger tap his shoulder. He almost cringed with embarrassment as he turned and saw it was Harvey Bullock, an order chit clutched in one hand, the other held up placatingly.  
Ed’s lip curled.  
Of all the Chinese takeouts in Gotham why did Bullock have to walk into this one?!  
What had Ed done to be cursed with such poor timing?!

‘Woah!’ he laughed, ‘Easy. Bit jumpy aintcha?’

Ed adjusted his glasses to hide his surprise. He was grateful they were the only ones waiting to collect orders. It meant he could react however he wished and not worry about what the public would think of the Mayor’s aide maybe having to sock the acting police captain on the jaw.

‘Just surprised you have time for any food that doesn't involve copious amounts of cheese or coloured sprinkles’, he replied.

‘Someone's grumpy’, Bullock taunted, lips pursed in an exaggeratedly upset pout, ‘Did I getcha at a bad time?’

‘You always bring out that kind of reaction in me. It's like an allergy’.

Ed noticed the cashier beckoning and took his order, safely packaged up in a white plastic bag.

‘Look, I really like this place Ed’, Bullock said as Ed picked up a pair of chopsticks, ‘Ain't there a bunch of other Chinese takeouts you can haunt? Then again I’d thought you’d be busy scarfing down caviar with Mr Mayor in the Bates Motel’.

Ed smiled coolly as he tucked the chopsticks into his coat pocket with a tap of his fingers.

‘Believe me Bullock, your presence gives me more than adequate reason to avoid coming back here’.

‘Fair enough’, Bullock said, winking at the cashier as he took his own order, ‘Oh!’

Ed’s eyes narrowed as Bullock clicked his fingers as if an idea had just occurred to him.

‘By the way’, Bullock said with faux sincerity, ‘Tell Mayor Cobblepot we're very grateful for his amazing leadership during Jerome’s rampage’.

He held the door open for Ed who stalked through it.   
Ed had completely ignored the metaphorical (and in some reported cases literal) inferno that had engulfed the city days before. Just another delusional madman on a rampage. He had had more important business to deal with.  
Besides it was impossible it was Jerome. The GCPD had obviously been fooled by a very convincing copycat.  
Jerome was dead.  
People didn’t come back from the dead.

 _‘That’s not true. Not in Gotham. Fish came back’_ , his treacherous brain whispered, _‘Galavan came back. Why not Jerome? Why not Oswald?’_

When they were both outside, Bullock added:   
‘When Penguin finally decides to crawl outta whatever hole he's hiding in, maybe he wouldn’t mind explaining where the hell he was? Or where you were?’

‘I was taking care of some personal business’, Ed said coldly, ‘I do have other obligations besides ensuring Penguin can find his socks’.

Ed felt a spike of anger as Bullock’s self-satisfied smile grew wider.

‘Now I get the attitude’, he laughed, ‘Little trouble in paradise huh?’

‘What makes you say that?!’ Ed retorted, moving away from Bullock’s teasing elbow jabs.

‘Just a hunch. Detectives are good at those’. 

‘But not at minding their own business apparently’, Ed grumbled as he slammed his car door, takeout safely deposited on the floor of the back seat.

If a buffoon like Harvey Bullock could have picked up on Oswald’s unspoken attachment to Ed, who else had presumed that they were romantically involved?!

‘That's too bad’, Bullock shrugged, ‘Thought you two made a cute couple. Catch ya later Ed’.

‘Really?’ Ed said snidely, ‘You didn’t the first time’.

Bullock gave a great bellow of fake laughter, unimpressed by Ed’s comeback, as Ed got into the car and drove off, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

 

‘He said we made a cute couple’.

Ed didn’t reply, choosing instead to crunch down another prawn cracker.  
Oswald was perched on the hood of Ed’s car to Ed’s left. He kicked his feet idly as he looked out over Gotham Bay. It was a cold night but Oswald didn’t feel anything of course. Ed could still see blood leaking from his permanent stomach wound and water running down his pallid face.  
He was nodding his head in time with the music emanating from Ed’s car radio.

‘And look at this’, Oswald continued, spreading his arms wide, ‘Dinner, music, add a little candlelight and this would almost be a date. By the way, I take it you’re not going to share?’

‘I thought the hole in your stomach might make that difficult’, Ed commented after slurping down some noodles.

Oswald looked down at his wound and rolled his eyes in irritation.

‘Why do you keep coming back here?’ he asked, ‘For the ambience?’

Ed finished his noodles and took another prawn cracker out of the bag. He looked around.   
He didn’t know the answer to that.  
Since Oswald had been…lost, Ed had come back to the docks every day.

‘I'd thought I’d send your father down to join you’, Ed replied and tried to ignore the rush of alternative, more honest answers his brain was unhelpfully supplying.

_To try and recapture some of the righteous anger I felt pulling that trigger before it was swallowed by uncertainty. To not feel empty. Or like I made a horrible mistake. Or …alone._

‘So what’s stopping you?’ Oswald asked.

‘It seems...petty’. 

‘Isn't that one of the key features of revenge?’ Oswald asked, head tilted quizzically.

‘I've had my revenge. This is cleanup, not personal’. 

‘Looks more to me like you’re eating fast food listening to dreary music’, Oswald commented.

As Ed scrunched up the now empty cracker bag, Oswald suddenly clapped his hands together.

‘I stand corrected’, he laughed, ‘This isn’t a date. This looks more like a reaction to a bad breakup’.

‘How long are you going to keep gnawing away at that bone?!’ Ed snapped, savagely stuffing the empty bag and cartons into a nearby trashcan.

‘Depends’, Oswald shrugged, unaffected (as usual) by Ed’s annoyance, ‘How long until you accept the truth?’

Ed didn’t reply, just exhaled harshly and got back into the car.  
But, as usual there was no escape.  
As he put on his seatbelt, he saw Oswald was sitting in the front passenger seat as if he had been sitting there for hours.

‘You can't move on from your mistakes until you admit you were wrong’, Oswald says quietly.

Ed turned the key in the ignition and reversed to head back on to the highway, silencing the radio with a jab of the button.  
He had not been wrong to take revenge!  
Oswald had murdered someone he loved and then lied about it! All for his own selfishness!  
He had deserved to suffer punishment at Ed’s hands!   
But, had Ed maybe taken it too far?  
Despite repeatedly denying Oswald’s spectre’s allegation that he regretted what he had done, Ed couldn’t escape the reality that he had concocted his plan based on old data. Flawed data.  
Oswald had killed Isabella.  
But had learned from what Ed had said. Grown as a result of Ed’s punishment.   
Wasn’t that the whole point of punishing someone? Showing them they were wrong and ensuring they changed their behaviour?  
Because of Ed, Oswald would never have that chance.  
Yes, he had been right to take revenge.  
But had he needed to take it so far?

He saw the turn off for Gotham City cemetery and flicked on his indicator.  
Putting Elijah back where he belonged was the only reconciliation he was prepared to give Oswald. Maybe then his death would stop nagging at him like an old war wound.  
Justice had been served for Isabella. Elijah had been a means to an end and now that his purpose was complete, Ed supposed it was only right to put him back. He didn’t have anything against the man after all.  
Ed laughed bitterly to himself.  
Justice? He was starting to sound like Jim Gordon.  
He definitely needed to get some sleep.

‘This takes me back’, Oswald commented.

He was pacing alongside the grave as Ed dug into the moist earth, throwing sod over his shoulder. Gaining access to the cemetery and subsequently its tool shed to procure a shovel had been easy thanks to his lock picking kit.

‘The first time I met you, you were burying somebody. Or ‘some bodies’’.

‘The first time we met was in the GCPD’, Ed corrected, grunting in satisfaction as he judged the hole was now deep enough.

He lowered the duffle bag down and climbed out of the grave. 

‘It doesn't count’, Oswald said, watching as Ed began to fill the grave back in, ‘You weren't yourself back then'.

Ed took a breath, leaning on the shovel. For the first time that night he looked at Oswald properly.

‘What did you mean at the docks when you said you saw 'Who I can still become?'’ he asked.

Oswald smiled at him sadly.

‘You really wish I could answer that’, he said.

Ed sighed and resumed his task. It had been pointless to ask.  
If this Oswald was a hallucination then he only knew what Ed knew and if he truly was a ghost then he wouldn’t answer anyway out of either supernatural restriction or good old fashioned spite.

Ed patted down the sod with the shovel and returned it to the nearby shed then came back to the grave where Oswald was still standing.

‘Do you want to say anything? he asked. 

‘No but don’t you think maybe you should apologise for using my father's remains as a weapon to break down his only son's fragile psyche?’

Ed rolled his eyes and walked back to the car without a word.  
Once again, Oswald materialised in the front passenger seat.

‘Throwing him off a dock with concrete around his ankles would have been much easier’, Oswald said as Ed started the car, ‘You wouldn't have gotten your suit dirty’. 

‘I don't want anything resurfacing later', Ed said, taking hold of the steering wheel, ‘And sometimes taking care of business means getting your hands dirty’. 

Suddenly Oswald's hand was on his.   
Ed felt no weight or warmth as he watched still wet blood dribble down from Oswald’s hands and through his fingers.

‘You learned from the best’, Oswald said gently, ‘But, are you sure you don’t want anything to resurface?’

Ed turned to look at Oswald but he was gone.  
Ed hoped for good.  
Really he did.

He began the lonely drive back to the mansion, trying to ignore the etheric chill that remained on his hand.


	30. Addiction

Ed took another pill and blinked hard, trying to dispel the pulsing he could feel behind his eyes.

‘Let me guess: multivitamins? Make you big and strong?’

Ed checked behind him using the mirror but did not see Oswald anywhere in his bedroom.

‘My head hurts’, he grumbled, drying his hair with his towel as he enjoyed the cool air on his naked body.

‘That’s what you get for not sleeping or eating right’, Oswald’s disembodied voice chided.

Ed’s eyes flicked to the uneaten breakfast Olga had brought to him earlier on a tray. Ed had left it where she had set it on the bed, choosing instead to go and have a shower. He had been eager to wash off the sweat from another sleepless night. As well as other bodily fluids from certain dreams. Involving a certain person.

‘I’m not hungry’, Ed said, proceeding to dry his body.

‘You’re going to hurt Olga’s feelings’.

‘The woman’s incompetent anyway. No matter what I say she always makes too much’.

‘You could fire her’.

‘She also _knows_ too much’, Ed replied and took his third aspirin.

‘You’re giving me quite an eyeful here you know’.

Ed turned and, as he had expected, now saw Oswald sitting on his bed. Oswald lifted the lid off the teapot, making a distasteful face at the now tepid liquid within before turning his attention back to Ed. Ed watched Oswald give him an over exaggerated once over and an appreciative low whistle.

‘Have you no shame?’ Oswald teased.

Ed tied his towel around his waist and Oswald gave a dissatisfied noise as he was deprived of his view.

‘Turn around if it bothers you’, Ed said, walking to his wardrobe.  
He opened it and took out a clean shirt.

‘I never said that’, Oswald laughed, ‘Besides, it’s almost like you _want_ me to watch’.

Ed ignored him and focused on the task at hand, going through the motions of making himself presentable for ‘normal life’.  
Once he had finished doing up his tie, he checked his reflection in the mirror once more. He didn’t see anything wrong with what he had picked but he didn’t have Oswald’s eye for fashion. He hoped nobody else would in his meetings that day. He had more important things to worry about than if his tie matched the cuffs of his shirt or some other such nonsense.

‘Why not wear the suit I made you?’ Oswald asked, ‘You’ve taken it out after all’.

Ed could see Oswald stroking its sleeve. Ed had taken it from the wardrobe a few nights before and hung it on the wardrobe door so he could see it.  
It wasn’t just a suit. It was something to aspire to. Like a robe worn at a graduation ceremony or a groom’s tux. It would be worn only when the time was right.  
Ed had always lacked the confidence before. It was just so…bright.  
When the time came to unveil himself (whoever he was), he would wear it proudly.

‘I've been saving it’, Ed said honestly, fixing his hair.

‘For this big 'I'm a villain' coming out party you have planned?’ Oswald asked, raising an eyebrow, ‘You got a plus one yet?’

Ed rolled his eyes and went to his desk.  
He picked up the craft supplies, grabbed the easel and board sitting beside the desk and headed downstairs. 

 

When he came into the parlour, Oswald was already there. In his favoured seat on the couch by the fireplace.

‘Nice to see you keeping busy at least’, he commented as Ed set up the easel, ‘New hobby?’

‘In a manner of speaking’. 

He put the board into place and set the craft supplies down on a nearby table. He was ready to begin. Well, almost.  
He reached into his jacket and took out his pill box. He clicked it open and did a quick count of the pills within, taking into account the three he had already taken.  
A scoff at his ear made him jump. He hastily grabbed the pills as they fell from his grip and clicked the box shut before any could fall out. He scowled at Oswald who had manifested behind him while he had been preoccupied.

‘That must be some headache’, Oswald said, an undertone of accusation in his words.

‘You should know’, Ed said unconcernedly, putting the pills back in his pocket, ‘You’re in my head’.

‘That’s also how I know those aren't aspirins you've been taking’.

‘They make me feel better’.

‘No. They help you ignore the fact your body is screaming at you’.

‘Whereas you’re just nagging me’, Ed retorted and turned his attention to the photos in front of him.  
He began to pin them on the board up one after another.

Oswald began to hum a song and Ed’s brain helpfully supplied the associated lyrics.

_‘Tried to make me go to rehab but I said ‘no’, ‘no’, ‘no’…’_

‘Stop that’, Ed said, putting up the last picture.

‘Why?’ Oswald asked innocently, gesturing to Ed’s pocket where the pills were, ‘Lyrics mean anything to you?’

‘No. It's distracting’, Ed said dismissively, stepping back to ensure the pictures were lined up to his satisfaction.

‘You used to enjoy it when I sang’, Oswald said resentfully.

‘You know I don't like Amy Winehouse’, Ed deadpanned, rubbing his eyes wearily.  
His head still hurt and his eyes were aching. But it was way too soon for another aspirin.

‘If those were really aspirin you would be dead by now’, Oswald observed, hearing Ed’s thoughts as clearly as if Ed had spoken aloud, ‘You've been popping them like candy _and_ on an empty stomach’. 

Ed shook his head in frustration and took out the pills.  
Of course they were aspirin! Why did Oswald keep saying they weren’t?!  
He was well versed in chemistry and, though he had made these himself, knew the composite chemicals were more than capable of banishing a variety of aches and pains.  
But he had just taken three. Oswald was right: that was too much all at once!  
He looked at the pills but as he tried to focus on them properly rather than just counting them, his vision swam. Instead of the plain circular pills he thought had been in the box he saw these were capsules: one half translucent showing white pearls within and the other half coated white.  
These weren’t aspirin.  
Ed suddenly realised he knew that. He had always known that.  
So why was he arguing with Oswald? He was right that these pills weren’t aspirin. He was part of Ed’s brain.  
Yes, Ed had made them himself using his chemistry set about a week before.  
For some reason he had just forgotten why.  
Had he been hallucinating at the time? He was tired. Yes, that was it. Lack of sleep often caused impaired vision and lack of focus.  
And the pills (whatever they were) did make him feel better.  
Without them, everything felt uncertain and clouded.  
The pills made things seem…  
He noticed Oswald was looking at him searchingly, as if daring him to voice a conclusion.  
…Normal.  
Ed yawned and rubbed his eyes as a deflective tactic.  
The pills could be a placebo for all he knew. The point was they worked.

‘When was the last time you slept properly?’ Oswald asked, face concerned.

Ed didn’t want to sleep.  
The only thing worse than the hallucinations that sometimes plagued him when awake were the terrors his brain could concoct when his guard was down. Or that hollow feeling when he would wake up in the dead of night in an empty house.  
Then he remembered why he had made the pills.  
He had realised the hallucination he kept having of Oswald since that fateful day on the docks had been fading. His ‘ghost’ had grown dimmer and more and more transparent. He started to ignore Ed’s questions and demands, face emotionless. As if he couldn’t hear Ed at all.  
For some reason an irrational fear had seized him at the thought of losing the ability to see his former friend. It was illogical (as all fears were) but the pharmaceutical solution to the issue had somehow seemed perfectly rational to Ed at the time.  
Ed wasn’t ready to let Oswald go but despite what the spectre insisted, it was not because Ed missed him!  
He was above such sentimentality, especially towards someone who had betrayed him in the name of an emotion he didn’t even understand! Oswald owed Ed! He was not allowed to leave without helping him figure out the next step! He didn’t have the right to dangle the secret of who Ed ‘could still become’ in front of him then die without explaining!  
That was why Ed had made the pills and Oswald’s ghost only came when called now.  
His feat of chemical necromancy had also the positive side effect of cleaning Oswald up, making him look more like the unfortunate victim of a heavy downpour instead of a drowned corpse. Even if he sometimes did come with uninvited guests. Right now, there seemed to be a crab on Oswald’s shoulder.

‘It doesn’t matter’, Ed said, watching the crab’s claws fidget.

‘Translation: you don't know’, Oswald grumbled, crossing his arms.

‘And I don't care either’, Ed said stridently.

‘Aspirin won't help deal with that empty pain in your chest either. Just saying’.

‘They make me feel better’, Ed repeated. 

‘Self-medicating is a bad idea’, Oswald said reproachfully, ‘Almost as bad as shooting your best fri-‘

‘I know what I'm doing!’ Ed rounded on Oswald, teeth gritted.

Oswald didn’t back down. 

‘And we both know 'why' don't we?!’ Oswald snapped, ‘Though personally I think planning a murder spree's a bit of an overreaction to a broken heart!’

‘My heart isn't broken!’ Ed protested.

‘Gee you forgot about Isabelle fast enough didn’t you?’ Oswald challenged, ‘Straight on to the next big thing huh?’

Ed made to grab Oswald’s coat in anger but stopped himself at just the last moment. Oswald gave a smug wink, relishing his insubstantiality.

‘You’re in my head’, Ed said heatedly, repeatedly jabbing both fingers into his sore temples in tandem with his words, ‘You should at least know how to say her name properly! Isabella was avenged. Now I have to find a way forward, find a way to live without her’.

‘Oh yeah because this whole thing is all about living without 'her'’, Oswald griped, ‘Why not invite ‘what’s her name’ along next time and we can all have a nice chat?’

Oswald vanished without a trace, save for the ringing of his spiteful tongue.

Ed gaped for a moment, unsettled by the sudden departure then reached instinctively for his pills.  
As his fingers neared the pocket, he heard a barely audible snicker.

‘Let me guess: you can quit any time you want?’

Ed clenched his fingers shut and with some effort, returned his hand to his side, leaving the pills untouched.  
He _could_ quit anytime he wanted! Now that he knew how long the optimal dosage lasted for.  
But he wasn’t going to quit now.  
Going ‘cold turkey’ was too risky.  
He returned his attention to the board.  
The six faces of his chosen targets looked back at him. He touched each one in turn.  
Baby steps. That was the key.  
He needed the pills. Needed the extra energy and increased powers of insight they gave him. He didn’t have time for sleep now: he couldn’t lose his momentum.  
There was a lot of work to do. But it would be worth it.  
He could do this. He could be everything he had to be: mayoral aide, Oswald's friend worried sick about his disappearance, upstanding citizen, himself (whoever that was)…

‘You hope’, Oswald whispered treacherously from the back of his mind. 

He just needed a little guidance until he found his new path. That was all.  
And once he did, he would travel on unencumbered.  
Free.  
Alone.

‘You hope _not_ ’, a voice said.

This time, Ed couldn't tell if it was his or Oswald's.


End file.
